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Chapter Text

The tinny electricity of the dance music thrums through Magnus’ bones, the taste of hundreds of dancing bodies catching on the back of his tongue. It’s air conditioned in the club, but the press of that many people exerting themselves makes Magnus warm on his raised platform. When the bass drops it ripples through the entire building, connecting them all by the tremble in their bellies for a moment.

It’s the closest to magic he feels anymore, and he drinks it in.

Magnus had put Pandemonium on the back burner, for a while, what with everything else going on. Being a High Warlock takes a lot of time and energy, and anyway, Magnus is now a happily taken man. Pandemonium’s shadowy corners hold a lot of memories of a single, more… hedonistic Magnus.

But, things change. Most notably, Magnus is no longer High Warlock. Or a warlock. A warlock without magic or immortality isn’t much of a warlock at all. The only thing Magnus has left of it is his eyes, permanently without a glamor now that his magic is gone, the golden shine of them mocking him in every mirror he passes.

Magnus has obtained several pairs of sunglasses.

So he sits on his small plush throne, overlooking the throngs of his revelling subjects, and tries not to think of all that he has lost. Thinking about that is what kept him in bed for two entire weeks, letting laundry and takeout containers that he could not magic away pile up until Alec dragged him by the foot out of the bed and into a cold shower.

“Alexander,” he had cried, scraping his wet hair out of his face and scowling up at Alec, who had water splashed all over his shirt.

“There is a difference between accommodating someone’s feelings and enabling harmful behavior, and I was toeing the line,” Alec had said and planted himself on the toilet seat while Magnus grudgingly washed.

Magnus feels a hand on his shoulder and turns, looking up in Maia’s face. He smiles at her and she plops into the lounge chair with him, tossing her head back. She smells like a liquor store and looks exhausted. After she came back to New York, she didn’t want to go back to the Hunter’s Moon. Luke’s pack is in shambles and her abuser is Simon’s new babysitter, making her old place of work feel tainted. Sour. Magnus welcomed her happily and they spend most of their evenings together now, drinking their sorrows.

“Just got off,” she mumbles, leaning her head on his shoulder and sighing. “Some rich lush drank your entire top shelf.”

“You shouldn’t talk about me like that to my face, you know,” Magnus teases, raising his whiskey glass to her. She cracks a smile, but eyes the glass.

“You’re driving yourself home?” she asks, and Magnus rolls his eyes.

“This is my last one. I’ll be fine,” he dismisses her worry with a wave of his ringed hand. “You’re almost as bad as Alexander.” Alec has been leaving vitamin gummy bottles and health shake packets lying around the kitchen since Magnus lost his immortality. He’s worried about Magnus’ liver , wants him to drink more water .

True to his word, Magnus finishes his drink and hugs Maia goodbye, knowing Alec had wound up on a late patrol but should be home soon. He waits outside for the valet to bring his car around, a cherry red Lamborghini with a black leather interior. The radio comes on loud when he gets in, some song with a long violin solo Alec got stuck in Magnus’ head that morning.

He hums along as he sets off toward home, glaring into the lights of oncoming traffic. Brooklyn roads never cease to be a nightmare, and Magnus misses portalling. He misses it so much he even thinks he feels magic pooling in his fingers, the sharp sting of it traveling up his arms.

He merges and tries to dismiss the feeling, but it only grows stronger, striking hard into his chest like lightning. White hot tendrils drag against his heart like fingers, clenching around his lungs and making him gasp. He wonders briefly if Alec was right about laying off of the drinking, if he’s having a heart attack, if he really should have started taking those vitamins in the mornings.

The back end of a pick up truck snaps him out of this thought and he slams his breaks, trying to focus on the road even as it feels like his insides are cooking.

Just as his vision begins to go black, it’s over, receding like a tide. Magnus can breathe again. When the traffic light turns green, he goes, driving home like normal. His legs don’t even shake when he steps out of the car in the parking garage under his building.

All the way up the elevator he holds his hand against his chest, feeling his own heart. Fine, thumping along like normal.

When he enters the loft, Alec greets him from the kitchen, taking something out of the microwave. Magnus leaves his coat and shoes by the door, leaning in for a kiss, but Alec’s frowning when they part.

“Are you alright? You look shaken up,” Alec says, taking Magnus’ arm.

Magnus smiles, despite his worry. Alec can read him like a book. “I think so. I almost crashed the car on the way home,” he confesses.

“Have you been drinking?” Alec looks at him critically.

“Yes,” Magnus admits, “But this isn’t that. It was like… nothing I’ve ever experienced. Painful, agonizing, and then nothing.”

“Magic?” Alec asks, leaning back against the counter.

“Maybe. I’m not sure,” Magnus replies. But Alec is no longer looking at him, but slightly above him, crinkling his eyebrows. “What?” Magnus asks, but Alec ignores him, reaching for his head. Before Magnus can stop him, Alec plucks a hair out of his head. “Alexander-” Magnus says, but then Alec is holding it between them for him to see.

Pinched between Alec’s fingers is a single silver strand of hair. Magnus snatches it from him, holding it up to the light for inspection. A gray hair, from Magnus’ head. He’s never had a gray hair, not in over four-hundred years.

“Magnus,” Alec begins, but Magnus shakes his head.

“I should’ve known this would happen,” Magnus says grimly.

“It’s one gray hair. Everyone gets them eventually,” Alec says pragmatically.

“It’s not the hair. Magic is what gives warlocks our longevity. It keeps us strong. My magic is gone now, and so is my immortality, but warlocks need magic like humans need a liver. We don’t last long without it,” Magnus explains.

“So, what? You’re going to die?” Alec asks, face losing all of its color.

Magnus nods slowly, chest feeling hollow. Empty of everything. Suddenly four hundred years doesn’t feel nearly long enough.

Alec shakes his head, reaching forward and pulling Magnus in by his shoulders, crushing him into a hug so hard it knocks the breath out of him. Magnus clutches at the back of Alec’s shirt, pressing his nose into the crook of Alec’s neck and closing his eyes, letting a stray tear or two slide out. “You’re going to be fine,” Alec says firmly and Magnus’ knees give out on him.

The reality of their situation breaks through the barrier of whiskey and Alec’s arms, ramming into him. He’s dying. He’s dying. He’s dying. Slowly, the life will leave him. He’ll lose everything that he has left of himself. First his hair, his vision, his hearing. He won’t be able to sweep Alec up off the ground when they kiss or beat him at sparring matches. Hell, he won’t even be able to leave the bed.

He’s never had to think about old age before. Withering, faculties failing him. He’ll experience for himself what he has witnessed in countless mortals throughout all of his years.

Alec catches his weight and lowers them both gently to the ground so that he’s seated against the cabinets and Magnus is knelt between his knees, leaning fully on Alec. “We’ll fix this. There’s a way to fix this, and we’ll find it. God, Magnus, I promise, you’ll be okay.”

More tears come and Magnus can feel his heart in his stomach. His face is hot. He begins counting his heartbeats, the rhythm of them a dirge carrying him away. You’re dying, you’re dying, you’re dying.

Chapter Text

Magnus wakes with a sore throat and a dry mouth. The curtains are drawn against the morning sun, but he can tell it’s later than it should be. Alec’s alarm should have disturbed him by now, but here Alec is, plastered against Magnus’ back, one leg wedged between his and an arm a dead weight over his ribs. He touches Alec’s arm with the tips of his fingers, waiting until he feels Alec move behind him and grunt, lifting his head up to look at Magnus.

“What time is it?” he asks, and Alec yawns, breathing a gust of morning breath on him that Magnus wrinkles his nose at.

“Ten. Turned my alarm off, told Isabelle I was sick,” Alec says, tossing his phone aside. Magnus squirms free of Alec, the night before crashing into him. They had stayed on the floor for hours, the ache in Magnus’ knees can attest to that, and he had cried himself out. It’s a little embarrassing, thinking back, all that’s left now is a numb sense of foreboding. He feels empty.

He picks up counting his heartbeats again and says, “Not that I don’t love having you home all to myself, but you didn’t have to. You not being at the Institute won’t change anything.”

“Me not being at the Institute gives me a full day to research, so we can fix this,” Alec says calmly, cupping Magnus’ cheek. “I love you, Magnus. You’re not alone.”

“I love you, too,” Magnus says automatically, patting the hand on his cheek. “I just don’t know what can be done. It’s not like Asmodeus will give me my magic back if I ask nicely,” he says, swinging his legs out of bed and cracking his back, heading to the kitchen to turn on the coffee pot.

“Do you think there are any spells? Or potions? That could slow this process? I’m still not sure what the process is, really, but is there anything that could at least buy us time?” Alec asks, and Magnus’ chest threatens to warm. Us, our, we. Alec has completely and without hesitation adopted this problem as his own. He never had even a moment where he considered abandoning Magnus, protecting himself.

“Magic is an integral part of all warlocks. Another part of our bodies to take care of and strengthen as we grow. It’s the thing that keeps us alive. Whatever it is that breathes life into humans, makes the brain and heart and lungs function, is a mystery. For warlocks, it’s magic. Magic is the spark of life. When warlocks don’t use their magic regularly, it goes dormant, and so does the warlock. We grow depressed, tired, it’s like we go stale. If a magic is sapped from a warlock all together… you’ve seen me after a magical depletion. It’s draining and painful, but a little rest fixes it. But if every bit of magic is pulled from a warlock’s body, we begin to shut down. For me, that means that the aging process is being sped up, since I’m already a few centuries overdue. For younger warlocks, they get sick and wither away to nothing. It’s like an illness takes them,” Magnus explains warily, coming back into the room and pulling on a shirt.

“How long?” Alec asks, face blank.

“Hard to say. As it progresses it will go faster, it’s already been five weeks and I’ve just now had my first episode. The pain I experienced was a sort of withdrawal. The body reaching for something it needs to function and coming up empty handed. Another month, I’ll be totally gray, who knows what else,” Magnus says, feeling wrung out already and he hasn’t even put his shoes on yet.

“Should we call Cat?” Alec asks.

“Maybe. The most pressing concern is that no one else finds out,” Magnus says. The past month has included a lot of hiding, on Magnus’ part. If anyone were to catch wind that he no longer possesses his magic, his fading life force will be a much smaller problem than the small army of people who will be out to get him. He’s defenseless. Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike would be happy to prey on him when he’s weakest, after four centuries of making enemies.

“She wouldn’t tell anyone,” Alec replies.

“No, she wouldn’t. But she’s sticking her neck out far enough for me as it is. She has Madzie to think about, and Lorenzo already sent out one threat regarding warlocks fraternizing with me. I don’t want to bring her any more trouble than absolutely necessary,” Magnus says firmly. In that moment, he misses Ragnor more than words could ever convey. Ragnor, who would rail at him over his stupefying lack of sense of self-preservation before offering him some tea and sage advice. Ragnor would know what to do.

The only silver lining Magnus can see in any of this is the chance that wherever his soul goes next, Ragnor would be there.

Magnus quickly dismisses such a thought, however. The only thing more dangerous than the weight of four-hundred years of grief and loss is the thought that maybe they’ll be there. Maybe they’ll be on the other side, waiting for him. That line of thinking is part of what drove him to the wall of the Blackfriars Bridge.

He can almost see it, though. Behind the blinding white light would be Ragnor, gazing at him with such rueful fondness. Arms folding him into one of his warm hugs.

“Hey,” Alec says, pulling Magnus from his thoughts. “What is it?”

Magnus shrugs. “Just a lot to think about. We’ll call Catarina for breakfast,” he says decisively. Alec goes to the kitchen to make French toast (Madzie’s favorite) while Magnus relays the situation to Catarina over the phone.

After a moment of contemplation and a wide yawn, Cat says, “I can’t think of anything off the top of my head to slow the progress, but your best bet would be a magical substitute of some kind. Something that would put magic into your body, even if it isn’t your own.”

Magnus hums. “That’s not a bad idea, only…”

“You can’t go looking for a charmed item like that without risking someone hearing about it, I know. I know, Magnus. I’ll be over soon, don’t worry,” she says, hanging up. Magnus sits back down on the bed, putting his face in his hands. He can’t even help himself.

Alec comes in a few moments later, the loft smelling like cinnamon. “You might want to get dressed,” he recommends, shedding his own flannel pajama pants and searching for a pair of clean jeans in his corner of the closet. “Unless you don’t mind Madzie seeing you in your silk peacock feather boxers.”

Magnus looks down, and sighs. His extravagant morning routine is much more strenuous now that it can’t be replaced with a snap of his fingers.

By the time Magnus hears Madzie bouncing down the hallway, he’s adjusting his ear cuff and heading for the door, pulling it open just as she’s about to knock. She beams up at him and he sweeps her up into his arms, making her squeal, before leaning over and kissing Catarina on the cheek. “Thank you,” he murmurs, carrying Madzie into the kitchen before letting her down to wrap her arms around Alec’s legs.

“Hey, kiddo! I like your dress,” he says, tugging on the frilly sleeve of Madzie’s purple tulle dress, causing her to giggle bashfully.

Alec and Madzie sit down to breakfast, but Magnus and Catarina excuse themselves to Magnus’ apothecary. The room is dusty and unused, feeling cold and lifeless. It makes Magnus sad, but there’s no reason for him to be in here now. He’s just as much in danger of hurting himself as any mundane who wanders in unsupervised.

“I think I could do a spell on an item, which would expel a small amount of magic into the person who possesses it. It would need to be renewed pretty frequently and isn’t even close to a permanent fix, but it might slow down what’s happening to you,” Catarina says, sitting at the desk and looking up at him.

“Thank you, Cat. For everything. Your help with Alec’s injuries and this, I mean, you could be blacklisted if Rey knew how much you communicated with me. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you or Madzie on my account,” Magnus says.

“I know. And if anything does, you’ll have hell to pay for it. But we’ve been best friends for so long, Magnus, I love you like you’re my family. You are, just as much as Madzie is. A little risk can be taken for the people you love. Now, what am I enchanting?” she asks expectantly, smiling at him gently.

Magnus digs into his pocket and comes out with the omamori charm Alec gave him, placing it gently on the desk. “This is supposed to bring me protection, anyway,” he mumbles, and steps back.

Catarina hovers her hands over the charm and closes her eyes. Tendrils of blue magic go from her fingers to the omamori, causing it to glow. Magnus feels a jealous hunger rear its ugly head in him, the ache to feel that glow again agonizing. Magic is like eating the sun, burning from the inside. So warm and bright, filling him up always, fueling him.

When the magic fades, he watches it go mournfully. The smell lingers, electric and tingling in the air.

“There. That should work for a while,” Catarina says, sliding the charm across the desk toward him. Magnus picks it up and feels it prickle against his fingers, a pinprick of magic oozing into him. A hint, barely a teasing morsel of all that he’s lost, but it’s something. He goes to his room and finds a leather cord, hanging the charm from it and tucking it into his shirt so that it’s right against his heart.

His entire existence narrowed down to a single point, a tiny pool of something that he used to have entire oceans of. He used to have enough magic to bring down the moon, drown the sea, bring up and then destroy entire civilizations. Now, he’s living on someone else’s charms. Borrowed time.

When he goes to the kitchen, there’s a plate of French toast waiting for him, but he isn’t hungry.

Chapter Text

Alec goes into work that afternoon, after considerable prodding from Magnus. He was all but pushed out the door, while Magnus said things like, “I’ll call if anything happens. If I get another gray hair, a sniffle, if I feel lonely, anything.” It would have made Alec feel better if he believed Magnus actually would.

He knows that Magnus loves him, and that they’re both committed to their relationship. And he trusts Magnus not to lie to him. However, Magnus hides the truth under so many layers of other, smaller truths that he even forgets he’s leaving something out. It’s just his way. When things are important, he buries them to keep them safe and away from the unflattering light.

Magnus pretends that Alec doesn’t see the way he sways and stumbles when he gets home from Pandemonium, that he doesn’t notice the red eyes and the many nights that Alec sleeps in a cold bed. Alec has been pretending, too. He doesn’t want to push Magnus, it’s the easiest way to chase him off. There’s no way Alec could understand what’s happening inside his head, doesn’t know how to find his way in.

He suspects Magnus doesn’t know how to find his way out, either.

All he can do is tell Magnus I love you and hope that it doesn’t lose its meaning, that they don’t both become numb to it. He can be there every time Magnus forgets to take his shoes off and crawls into bed fully dressed and stay in the morning when Magnus wakes, feeling insecure. Alec can love every single piece of him fully and with total abandon. It will have to be enough.

“I love you,” he said before Magnus shut the door in his face. Magnus smiled at him, even though his eyes were sad, and said it back, kissed him. They weren’t so lost, after all.

Alec will be damned if he’s been able to get any work done, however. Every three seconds he’s checking his phone, even though the ringer is all the way up and it’s right next to his laptop. Isabelle leans in the doorway, watching him for a moment before stepping in.

“You seem stressed, big brother,” she says, sitting on the edge of his desk.

“There’s a chair right there ,” he says to her exasperatedly, but then sighs, leaning back in his seat. “You know, it’s just Magnus. He’s going through a lot. I’m worried about him.”

Isabelle nods sympathetically. “I know, but he’ll be fine. You’ll both make it through. Has anything happened?”

Alec pauses, which confirms that something has happened, and watches as Isabelle purses her lips and looks at him expectantly. “Yes,” he says slowly, “But I don’t feel right telling you about it without him here. Suffice it to say that things are about to get a lot more eventful.”

“Speaking of events,” Isabelle says, “Are you ready for the Cabinet meeting later? You said to remind you.”

“ Shit . No, not at all,” Alec says, glancing at the clock. He had arranged for the first Downworld Cabinet meeting since the Seelie’s isolation today, welcoming in Lorenzo Rey, Simon and Maia as the new representatives. Raphael has left the city after the passing of his sister, and the New York vampires had taken a shine to Simon, voting him in. Luke lost the pack, but Maia stepped in as a leader, if not the official pack alpha.

“Whatever is going on with Magnus must really be big, then. That’s all you’ve been talking about for weeks. Sitting in a room for two hours with Lorenzo Rey ,” she makes a face of exaggerated disgust, mocking Alec. He rolls his eyes, but doesn’t argue.

“Just don’t mention Magnus to him. They fought, that’s grounds for being apprehended by the Spiral Labyrinth. Rey’s out for Magnus’ head,” Alec reminds Isabelle, who nods.

“Underhill sent up his report about training Downworlders in self-defense,” she says, tapping a folder on Alec’s desk. He slides it toward himself and flips it open, but just stares at the first sentence uncomprehendingly, nearly jumping out of his skin when his phone beeps with an incoming text. His heart stutters, but it’s just his mother sending him the most recent batch of silly Snapchat selfies she’s taken.

“Mom seems to be settling in well,” Isabelle says, voice lilting upward like a question.

“Yeah,” Alec says in agreement, opening the message, “Maybe she could go over to see Magnus before he heads to the club tonight.”

“Alec,” Isabelle says sharply, taking the phone out of his hands. “Magnus is a big boy, he can take care of himself. Do not send our mother to babysit him, I promise he will not appreciate it. Focus on the here and now, you have an Institute to run.”

Alec sighs, hanging his head and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “You’re right, you’re right. Sorry.”

Isabelle pats him on the hand. “Any word from Jace or Clary?” she asks, and Alec shakes his head.

After giving Clary an official pardon, Jia Penhallow sent them both on a deep cover mission to track and destroy Jonathan. Clary surviving the fall after Simon took out Lilith saved Jonathan as well, their connection binding their mortality together. Alec hasn’t heard from either of them for a month, and doesn’t expect to until after Jonathan is either apprehended or dead.

After their fight, Alec’s parabatai rune faded. Whatever destroyed the Owl destroyed their bond as well. Alec can’t help but feel somewhat relieved. A foolish promise he made in childhood felt more cursed than sacred.

“Everything feels wrong, Iz. I feel so different,” he admits.

Isabelle hums. “You are different. The Alec I knew six months ago couldn’t have dreamed of the man you are today. Change can be good, Alec. I know that things right now aren’t perfect, but we don’t want to go back to the way it was.”

“When did you get so wise?” he teases, looking up at her.

She laughs at him. “I was always wise, hermano , you just never appreciated it until now.”

Alec appreciates Isabelle even more when she leads the Cabinet meeting, knowing that Alec’s head isn’t screwed on quite right. All of them seated around the table, she clears her throat and says, “I’m sure I speak on behalf of my brother and everyone else involved with this Cabinet here at the Institute when I welcome you three as our new Downworld representatives. Mr. Rey, Mr. Lewis, Ms. Roberts, it will be an honor to work with you.”

Simon beams, mouthing Mr. Lewis to Maia, nudging her in the ribs, and she puts a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Isabelle,” she says.

“Yes, thank you, Ms. Lightwood. Though it’s a shame that none of the original Cabinet members remain. I hope that doesn’t speak to the legitimacy of this excursion,” Lorenzo says, leaning back in his seat, palms flat on the table.

“Well, Mr. Rey, you of all people should know just how quickly power exchanges hands here in New York. Are you finding your new role as High Warlock suitable?” Alec asks, eyes hard on Lorenzo’s face.

Lorenzo only smiles blandly. “I am. It’s demanding work, I’m beginning to understand why Bane is such a heavy drinker. Speaking of which, I haven’t been able to contact him. We have unfinished business.”

Isabelle’s eyes widen and she cuts in, “I’m sure there will be time for personal matters later, Mr. Rey. For now, our Head of Security has submitted an idea to create self defense classes for young Downworlders in New York.”

“Why?” Simon asks.

“We think it would be prudent of us to teach Downworlders practical self defense, considering how at risk the community is for attacks. If Downworlders were as well trained as Shadowhunters, it could create a more balanced environment,” Alec says.

“So, you want kids to be ready when your Shadowhunters come to victimize them,” Maia says drily, and Alec winces, but nods.

“Don’t you? I know everyone here is aware that the system is broken, inside and out. Progress happens slowly, and in the meantime we just want to help in whatever ways we can, regarding short term solutions. I hold my Shadowhunters accountable for their actions, but I can’t control what they do out on patrol when I am not with them,” Alec says.

“But the Clave doesn’t. Clearly. Circle members still hold prominent places in your institution. A slap on the wrist isn’t enough anymore, after the Mortal Sword, especially,” Maia says sharply, expression fierce.

“You’re right, I know. The Soul Sword massacre was-” Alec is cut off by his phone chirping with several text notifications, followed by ringing.

“You didn’t put it on silent?” Lorenzo asks, unimpressed.

“I have an important mission running right now, I can’t afford to miss a call,” Alec says hurriedly, tucking the phone into the cradle of his shoulder.

Before he can even speak, Magnus rasps on the other end of the line, “It happened again. Worse. I need you to come home.”

Alec’s heart drops into the pit of his stomach. “I’ll be there soon,” he breathes, hanging up. “I am so sorry, but something has come up, completely unavoidable. I have to leave, but Isabelle can lead the meeting in my stead. Iz.” Alec looks at her meaningfully and she nods, clearing her throat and speaking over his clamoring exit, the sound of his boots hitting the floor in a sprint.

Chapter Text

The door bangs open, crashing into the wall and rattling on its hinges. “Magnus!” Alec’s voice echoes throughout the loft. His boots make the floor creak.

“In here,” Magnus says from the foot of the spiral stairs that lead to the roof, head between his hands. Alec approaches but stops abruptly when he sees Magnus sat on the floor before him. The silvery white hair peeking through his fingers.

“Oh my god, Magnus,” Alec breathes, sitting down hard on the floor in front of Magnus, grabbing onto his wrists and prying his hands away from his head. Magnus doesn’t look at him, afraid of the alarm and terror he might see in Alec’s expression.

Instead, he speaks to the floor. “I was feeding the cats and it hit me. It was more painful than the first time, and longer. I thought I was going to die, laying there on the roof. When I could walk I came back down here, and saw my reflection in the window.”

“I thought the omamori was supposed to slow it down,” Alec says softly, cupping Magnus’ cheek.

Magnus looks up, eyes gold and pupils huge in the dim light of the loft. Alec’s brow is creased with worry, but more than anything he looks filled with a fierce determination that makes Magnus’ chest contract.

“It is. But it’s like sending one warrior out against an army ten thousand strong,” Magnus replies, running a hand through his silver hair. He thinks of a long dead lover, how he had last seen her laying in bed, hair gone white and eyes clouded. She barely recognized him, but her smile was as beautiful as it was the day they met. He wonders if Alec will think the same of him, in the end. Still see in Magnus what he saw the day they met, whatever it was that made him falter and turn pink.

“We’ll just have to work faster. I can tell Isabelle, she could look at the Clave archives to read up on interactions with Greater Demons, maybe even Asmodeus,” Alec says firmly, leaning in and kissing Magnus hard. “This isn’t the end.”

Magnus nods mutely, not moving from his spot on the floor even when Alec gets up and turns away, calling Isabelle.

“Izzy, look, I’m sorry I left the meeting early. But can you come to the loft? It’s urgent,” Alec pauses, “And can you bring black hair dye?”

“I see what you mean about Lorenzo Rey, that man is a real piece of work- holy shit, Magnus ,” Isabelle says as she enters the loft, carrying a pharmacy store bag in one hand. Magnus and Alec are sitting on the couch and Magnus smiles weakly at her.

“Four-hundred years are catching up to me, I’m afraid. Quickly,” he says and her mouth drops open.

“What happened?” she asks, handing the bag over to him and sitting beside him, clasping his hand tightly. She sits silently as Magnus explains the situation to her, with input from Alec, and is quiet for a long time after they finish.

Finally, she speaks. “I don’t know of any weapon that can be used against a Greater Demon, aside from Simon, but I’ll look into it. And anything else, whatever you need, Magnus. You’ll get your immortality back.” Her wide brown eyes hold an expression so like Alec’s Magnus almost laughs. Earnest and strong and caring.

“Isabelle, I was blessed the day you and your brother walked into my club,” he says and she beams at him.

“But first, let’s do something about that,” she nods at his head, standing and holding out her hand to him. She leads him to the bathroom and steps back long enough for him to take off his shirt before directing him to sit on the toilet while she unpacks the boxed hair dye, gloves, and brush.

Alec stands in the doorway as Isabelle smears black dye onto Magnus’ hair, saturating the silver completely with both her fingers and the plastic brush. Magnus studies his shower curtain, trying not to let his pride fill his belly. The would-be High Warlock of Brooklyn letting a Shadowhunter dye his hair in his own bathroom.

He used to have different streaks in his hair each day of the week, just with a wave of his hand in the mirror.

“By the way, Lorenzo said he’d be coming by soon. You’ve been avoiding him,” Isabelle says, and Magnus scoffs.

“He took my job and then made choices that directly lead to me losing my magic. Yes, I’ve been avoiding him. He wants me arrested, and if he finds out I’m mortal, he could have me killed,” Magnus snaps.

“You think he would?” Alec asks from behind them.

“I won’t put anything past that man. At the very least he will expose me,” Magnus grumbles.

“But,” Isabelle adds, “at least he can’t send you to the Spiral Labyrinth. Not if you don’t have magic.”

“That’s very comforting,” Magnus deadpans, standing up from the toilet seat. When he turns and looks at Isabelle, however, wearing gloves stained with dye and looking up at him with eyes full of concern, he softens. “Thank you, Isabelle.”

She shrugs. “What’s family for? That’ll have to come out in about half an hour.” Isabelle turns and leaves the room, heading for the living room where Alec’s tablet is, leaving Magnus standing there, open mouthed.

Family.

Alec smiles at him gently and follows his sister, letting Magnus collect himself. He breathes deeply, inhaling the chemical smell of the pharmacy hair dye, and with it the feeling of being loved. This is always what’s kept him centered, when the years started catching up with him. Letting the love that people have for him fill his heart, keeping it there for as long as he can. Isabelle Lightwood cares for him, and he will carry her strength and tenacity in him because of it.

When he goes to the living room he sees Isabelle looking at archived files on Alec’s tablet while Alec scans some of Magnus’ own notes on Asmodeus in a diary he kept in the eighteenth century. “I hate language,” Alec mumbles, brow creasing at the outdated French Magnus wrote in at the time.

“It looks like the Clave has only had one documented encounter with your,” Isabelle looks up at Magnus, “with Asmodeus. In the early sixteen-hundreds he seduced three English Shadowhunters into a deal. In exchange for their souls, they would all gain glory and honor through their skill in battle. There was a huge flux of demonic activity in Europe at that time, so they wanted to kill as many as possible.”

Magnus swallows, the story uncomfortably familiar. He remembers being a young man, barely seventeen at the time, stood in the shadows of a parlor and watching his father confer with three blonde Shadowhunters, tapping his cane on the floor in time with his words. He made it sound like a blessing: eternal glory in exchange for one tiny thing. At the time, they had been nothing more than animals to Magnus. Humans were made to feed on, and Shadowhunters were a special treat. Their souls would fuel him and his father both.

“They were brothers. The deal was that they had ten years each before Asmodeus was due to collect,” Magnus murmurs. He ignores the way Alec looks at him, forgiveness in every inch of his face. No pity, just acceptance. Alec sees what Magnus has done and absolves him of any guilt. But that isn’t Alec’s place, not all the time.

“Yes. Anyway, two of them fell to Asmodeus, and he took their souls. The third proposed a new deal. The soul of his mundane mistress instead of his own. Asmodeus altered his original pact and took her soul instead. The Clave condemned the Shadowhunter to death anyway, but his soul wasn’t damned to Hell. At least, not because he sold it,” Isabelle says.

“The magic that binds a demon deal is fairly straightforward. There’s power in words, when a bargain is struck it becomes unbreakable, unless both parties come to an agreement to either dissolve the deal or alter it. You can’t steal from demons, and even if you kill them you cannot get back what they took. This isn’t new,” Magnus says impatiently.

Isabelle glances between him and Alec before saying, slowly, “Since Lilith, the Iron Sisters have been working on new weapons. Weapons that could possibly destroy a Greater Demon. Aline told me about them. It’s all very experimental, but there’s a chance that I could get something that would stand against Asmodeus.”

“We can’t kill him, Magnus’ magic will be gone forever,” Alec reminds her, but Isabelle shakes her head.

“I never said kill,” she replies.

Magnus barks out a sharp laugh. “Your plan is the threaten my father? To scare him into submission? He was in the war between Heaven and Lucifer, he looked into the very face of God and felt no fear. No weapon could ever force him to give in. He’d laugh and then he’d kill you.” He turns on them both, throwing the balcony doors open and shutting them sharply behind him, glaring out at the octane sunset shining behind Brooklyn, glinting off of the bridge.

He’s alone only for a moment when Alec follows him. The sharp tension in his back makes him flinch when the doors slide closed gently behind Alec, who joins him by the railing.

“Hey,” Alec says softly.

Magnus sighs. “I’m sorry I was sharp with Isabelle. She’s only trying to help.”

Alec touches his hand, clenched tight around the bannister. “What was that, Magnus? Really, what’s bothering you?”

Magnus turns his hand palm up, letting Alec link their fingers together. “You know how Asmodeus stays so strong? What he feeds on?” Alec doesn’t answer, but Magnus continues, “He eats his children’s souls. He lets them grow big and strong, practically dripping power, and then he devours them. Either they sacrifice themselves at his altar, or he coerces them into some deal. They die, and he feeds on them.

“I was his chosen son. I was going to rule Edom by his side, help him stand against his Fallen brothers and when he was the last one standing over the entire dominion of Hell, he would consume me, too. He was saving me for last. He told me all of his other children, my siblings, were lesser. Created out of necessity, but I was special. I believed him. And do you know what I did, Alexander? I helped him hunt them. I remember watching him drive a girl of twenty, my sister, to the brink of madness until she finally gave in. I watched her die, and I watched her soul fill him. I watched him grow so powerful I could feel it, his magic leaking out of him. That was when I knew that he had to be stopped. I had to stop him or I would be next.”

“Magnus,” Alec whispers, but Magnus ignores him.

“That’s why I know that nothing we do will work. This is what he’s been waiting for. He’s ready for his next meal,” Magnus turns and opens the door, “I need to rinse this dye out of my hair.”

Chapter Text

Magnus sleeps fitfully that night, plagued with nightmares of a past that was better left buried. A girl with long curls of dark hair, fallen into eyes just like his. Eyes pinched in pain, mouth stretched into an unending scream. He dreams of the way her skin felt when she was dead, still warm when he closed those eyes, unable to look at such suffering anymore. His father’s power tingling over his skin, raising the hairs on the back of his neck.

“See, Magnus? See all that you could become?”

The whispered question follows him into wakefulness, chasing him when he throws himself out of bed and crashes toward the bathroom, kneeling on the fluffy rug and resting his forehead against the cool tile floor.

“Ma’ns?” Alec’s slurred voice comes from the bed, followed by the sound of shuffling. “Hey,” he says softly, standing over Magnus.

Terrible as he feels, sick to his stomach with anguish, Magnus can’t help but smile at Alec’s bed hair and sleepy, squinting face. “Sorry. Bad dream,” he says, turning over to lay on his back and look up at Alec.

Alec frowns and lays down next to Magnus on the floor, folding his hands on his stomach and looking up at the dark ceiling. His expression is pensive, and so Magnus waits, knowing an oncoming speech when he sees one. “The idea of losing you makes me sick. The thought that you could be taken from me at a moment’s notice, it’s unbearable. The worst I have ever felt in my life were the times when I had to watch you walk away from me. I can’t imagine how it would feel to hold you as you…” Alec trails off, voice rough with sleep.

Magnus can’t help but think of Alec splayed out on the ground, his own arrow sticking out of chest. The terrible moment when he went totally still, unnaturally so, slack in Magnus’ arms. The breaths between that moment and the moment when Isabelle and Luke came running toward them were agony. They burned his lungs. “I understand,” Magnus says.

“Yeah. So I need you to try, for me. Try to fight. Try not to give up on this, on yourself. Please?” Alec says. “I know it’s selfish, but I need you to do that for me.”

Magnus rolls onto his side, cupping Alec’s cheek and feeling the wetness of his tears. “Alright, Alexander. I’ll try, for you,” Magnus whispers, leaning down to kiss Alec. It’s salty with tears.

“Good. Come back to bed,” Alec says, getting up and reaching down to help Magnus. When they lay down, Magnus’ chest snug against Alec’s back, he speaks again. “I don’t care about any of it. Your father, your past, anything. I care about you .”

The next morning Magnus wakes to Alec’s alarm trilling into the quiet room, Alec’s soft snuffles cutting off with a grown as he turns it off and cranes his neck to look over at Magnus, whose nose is pressed to the knobs of Alec’s spine.

“Morning,” Alec says and Magnus hums.

“Love you,” he says and Alec climbs out of bed, leaning over to kiss his cheek.

“Love you, too. Try not to sulk around all day today,” Alec advises, before heading off to shower. Magnus watches him go, brow furrowed.

After Alec leaves for the day, he calls Luke, who has been “lying low” for the past month, which has mostly included hiding from the NYPD and spending an inordinate amount of time with Maryse Lightwood, as far as Magnus can tell.

“Magnus? Everything alright?” Luke asks, and God how Magnus wishes people would stop asking him that.

“That’s… very unclear. Come over, I need a drinking buddy,” he says.

“It’s ten in the morning,” Luke says. Magnus waits, pointedly, until Luke sighs, “Yeah, alright. I’m coming.”

Magnus gets dressed in the interim, grimacing at his reflection. His hair is much too dark, clearly artificial, the black completely lacking shine and dry to the touch. He looks washed out. To compensate, he wears an emerald green shirt and tries an easy smile at himself in the bathroom. It looks strained. He scowls instead, which seems much more natural.

Luke knocks on the door and Magnus answers the door, looking him over. He’s rumpled, and in need of a shave, but no worse for wear. He’s been suspended from the NYPD without pay while they investigate the mysterious happenings surrounding him, even though his partner came back to work safe and sound.

Magnus leaves him to make himself comfortable, going to the dry bar and making them both Bloody Marys before flopping down on the couch. Luke bites the celery stalk from his drink and crunches thoughtfully at Magnus, narrowing his eyes. “You look different,” he says. He inhales deeply, and frowns. “Is that hair dye?”

“Long story. The point of which is basically, I need to take care of some things,” Magnus swirls his drink in its glass before taking a long sip, ice cubes clinking. The strong, spicy taste is invigorating, fueling his new sense of purpose.

“What things?” Luke asks suspiciously.

“It seems to me, Lucian, that you are lacking purpose. You’re no longer the leader of your pack, and you’re not a homicide detective anymore. And as it happens, I am looking for someone on whom I could bestow a purpose of sorts,” Magnus begins, arching an eyebrow at Luke, who looks at him dubiously.

“Magnus, what are you talking about?” Luke says. “Did something happen?”

Magnus sighs. “Yes. And I need to know that my city would be safe if I were to no longer be here. I can’t trust the Clave, I can’t trust the new High Warlock, but I can trust you. This Downworld needs someone to take care of it. My people need someone to take care of them. I think you’d be up for the challenge.”

Luke frowns, leaning forward, elbows on his thighs. “Of course, but look, you’re not going anywhere. This will always be your city, Magnus.”

Magnus smiles bitterly, and looks out the balcony doors toward the Brooklyn morning. It’s been thankless work, serving these people for nearly fifty years. But he made the city his own, Brooklyn and even the other boroughs falling under his care. Thousands of Downworlders who knew they could depend on him, knocking on his door at all hours asking for help. And he never turned a soul away. He never had it in him to deny someone in need, knowing all too well how deep the pit of hopelessness can be.

“Perhaps. But I no longer have my magic, or my title. I’m fading, Luke. I fear I’m fading from this place. I need to leave it in good hands, if I must leave it at all,” Magnus says firmly, “And I know I can trust you. Just say you’ll look after Brooklyn for me, if anything happens.”

“Yes, Magnus, I will take care of Brooklyn. I’ll take care of all of New York, for you,” Luke says. Magnus rises, offering Luke a ringed hand to shake.

“Words are binding, Luke Garroway. Thank you,” he says, squeezing Luke’s warm hand and smiling at him. Luke smiles back, slightly uncertain, but genuine all the same.

After he’s gone, Magnus pulls out his phone, dialing Alec. He answers on the second ring. “Hey, is everything alright?” he sounds slightly breathless.

“Fine, just fine. I’ve done some thinking, Alexander, after our conversation last night. I think I have a plan,” Magnus says, and listens to Alec’s sharp intake of breath. “Bring Isabelle home with you tonight, we’ll talk it through.”

“Yeah, alright,” Alec says, and Magnus can hear his smile.

“Don’t get your hopes too high,” Magnus warns him.

“No, I won’t. I’m just happy to hear you thinking positively,” Alec replies.

“Positively? God no. This plan might get us and everyone we know killed, if we don’t play it right. But I’m not giving up, Alexander. For you,” Magnus says, and Alec chuckles.

“I love you, Magnus Bane,” Alec says fondly.

Magnus grins. “I love you, too.”

Chapter Text

“I want it on the record that I think this is a bad idea,” Isabelle says, leading the way to her office, voice low so none of the Shadowhunters milling about hear her.

Magnus pushes his dark sunglasses up his nose. “If you’re urging us on the side of caution, this may really be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. And I once tried to walk the Mona Lisa out of the Louvre in the middle of the business day,” he says. Alec looks at him, the flabbergasted look on his face that Magnus so loves, and he smiles. “Day drinking,” he says with a shrug, and Alec smiles, huffing out a laugh.

“This is no art heist,” Isabelle grumbles, opening her weapons bank and rummaging around, stele held between her teeth while Alec looks at the array of halfway assembled weapons on her work table surrounded by tools. “And you’re not even taking backup.”

Magnus leans against her desk with a sigh. “With Lilith having been destroyed on Earth, she will be weak, it will take centuries for her to heal in Edom if she survived Simon at all. My father undoubtedly seized his chance and is now lording over all of Edom, which means he controls every demon in that dimension. If we bring backup, he will perceive it as an attack and tear us to shreds. I’m still supposedly his favorite son, he may let me live long enough to speak with him.”

“We’re putting a lot of faith in a demon that you’ve recently offended,” Isabelle says.

“This is the only way, Iz, come on,” Alec says and Isabelle rolls her eyes.

“As if I could stop you. No, I have something for you both,” she says, taking a quiver and a sleek black box out of her stock. She hands the quiver to Alec. “These arrows, when activated in their quiver, explode on impact. The explosion releases shards of pure electrum.” Alec takes the quiver, examining it. Emblazoned on the side is the rune for destruction. When he runs his stele over it, it glows bright white before fading to a shimmering gold. “As long as it’s gold, they’re active,” Isabelle explains.

“Wow, Izzy, thank you,” Alec says, eyes wide.

“If I can’t be with you while you’re there, I want to send something that will protect you. And you, Magnus, can have these,” she gestures to the black box. Magnus pulls the lid open and looks at the two silver pistols nestled in a bed of velvet. “I didn’t know how traditional seraph weapons would work for you, since the adamas is triggered by the touch of someone with Nephilim blood. But these should work, the guns are regular blessed metal, but the bullets are melted adamas with electrum cores.”

Magnus picks up one of the guns, holding it gingerly, testing the weight of it. “Isabelle, you’re incredible,” he says and Isabelle grins at him.

“I know,” she says, tossing her hair over one shoulder, winking at him.

“Do you know how to use those things?” Alec asks dubiously.

Magnus gazes at him dully. “Please. Are you familiar with Doc Holliday, the famous gunslinger?” At Alec’s nod, Magnus says, “Taught him everything he knew.” Alec snorts, rolling his eyes spectacularly, but doesn’t argue. And Magnus doesn’t miss the look he gets when he works his way into dual shoulder holsters, slinging a belt around his waist to hold extra magazine clips.

He carefully stores Alec’s slightly open mouthed expression away for later contemplation, and shrugs his studded coat on over his new weapons. Alec takes his two quivers and bow, as well as a long seraph blade attached to his thigh and several smaller ones tucked into his belt.

“I never thought a visit to see my boyfriend’s parents would require so much ammunition,” Alec mumbles, leaning into kiss Magnus.

“Look at it this way, you notice that I never complain when Maryse comes over for dinner,” Magnus says against Alec’s lips, pulling away to peck both of his cheeks as well. “Thank you for staying, Alexander.”

Alec presses their foreheads together. “There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he assures Magnus.

“Okay, you two, go canoodle somewhere else,” Isabelle says, waving them away. But, she catches Alec by the arm and says, “Make sure to come back safe. Both of you.”

Alec pulls her into a hug, squeezing her and saying, “We’ll be back before you know it. Until then, you’re in charge. Don’t burn the Institute down while I’m gone.”

“Or do. You know, up to you,” Magnus adds and Isabelle laughs, pulling back to hug Magnus briefly.

“Go kick your dad’s ass,” she gives her parting words of advice as Magnus and Alec go out the door and through the Institute to the living quarters, locking themselves in Alec’s mostly unused bedroom. There’s a towel slung over the bedpost, making the entire room smell faintly stale.

Alec, endearingly, snatches it up and throws it into the corner, kicking a pair of shoes under the bed and closing the messy closet door. Then, he bodily shoves the bed over until it’s against the wall, giving them ample floor space to work.

Magnus pulls the corked bottle of ash out of his coat pocket and opens it, the acrid smell of old fire and sulfur filling his nostrils. His hand shakes as he lowers the bottle to the floor, drawing a pentagram in the middle of Alec’s room and stepping back. “Are you ready?” he asks Alec, who nods, kneeling down with a corner store lighter and holding the small flame to the ash. The entire pentagram goes up, crackling with fire and magic as it’s activated.

Alec stands up, holding his hand out to Magnus, who takes it, squeezing tightly. His throat is tight with fear, but he pushes that down, focusing on Alec’s hand in his.

He takes the step first, leading Alec into the fire, flinching at it touches his skin for the moment it takes before the magic flares up, engulfing them both in flames.

It isn’t like portal travel at all, moving between dimensions. It feels like being consumed, the magic eating them alive while they’re frozen and unable to scream. Then, suddenly, they’re coughed out of the other side, spit into a world of orange sand and red sky, blackened sun low on the horizon.

The air is dry enough to burn Magnus’ lungs and Alec coughs. “This is Edom?” Alec asks, squinting around at the miles of desolate nothing. They’ve landed in front of the delipidated mansion Asmodeus used to call home, but it seems empty.

“Are you not impressed?” Magnus says drily, tugging on their still clasped hands. “Come on. He’s probably moved on by now, but let’s see.” He leads the way toward the house, which he called home himself once, centuries ago, the hand not in Alec’s resting on the handle of one of his guns.

Alec pushes open the door and it swings easily open, the hundreds of candles which once lit the room snuffed out, casting it in shadow. The chair is vacant, the shelves mostly cleared of books. Alec steps forward, the sandy floor creaking underfoot. In the same instant, a winged wraith demon comes shrieking at them out of the dark, leathery wings flapping and maw agape.

Magnus shoves Alec down and thumbs the safety off on his gun, firing directly down the demon’s throat. It crackles, spraying ichor out in a stream as it bursts. Two writhing masses drop to the floor, moving sluggishly toward himself and Alec, who takes one of his explosive arrows out of the quiver and stabs it straight down into the head of one. He jumps up and elbows Magnus out of the door as the arrow explodes, sending zinging clusters of electrum streaming forth, embedding in the other slug creature.

They squeal wetly as they die, leaking smoke and brackish black blood. Magnus holsters his gun, wiping the stream of ichor which got on his face off with the back of his hand, grimacing.

“I don’t think he’s here,” Alec says finally, after they’re both silent for the space of a few surprised breaths.

“He’ll know we’re coming. He controls all the demons in this dimension, now, sees through their eyes,” Magnus replies.

“So much for stealth,” Alec mumbles, picking a piece of slimy demon flesh out of his hair with a groan of disgust.

“He’ll be in Lilith’s old hold, toward the center of Edom,” Magnus says.

“It’s all desert. How do we know which way is the center?” Alec asks.

“Follow the sun. It was the one place I wasn’t allowed to go as a child, Lilith’s hold. You find it by walking toward the sun,” Magnus explains, nodding at the perpetual sunset behind Asmodeus’ abandoned home.

“Lead the way,” Alec waves Magnus on with his bow arm, falling into step behind him. Magnus feels the sand shifting beneath his feet and is reminded uncomfortably of his childhood. He was starving, dirty, and injured when Asmodeus found him at the age of ten. The first weeks in Edom were like paradise. Food whenever he wanted, no one to look at him with pity or revulsion. A father with eyes like his, a father that said he loved Magnus. He would take care of Magnus forever, teach him to control his powers and help him grow strong.

For the first time in his life, Magnus felt like he belonged. He belonged here among the red sand and sky, had no desire to ever return to the human world which treated him so cruelly. Here, he was loved and protected. Asmodeus would shield him from any harm.

Magnus cannot connect that fearful child to himself now. It’s so far away from him, but he remembers feeling that way. He remembered feeling this sand between his toes and feeling safe.

Now, he only feels hunted.

Chapter Text

Magnus’ feet begin to ache from walking about two hours in. Wraith demons circle overhead, black splotches on the red sky, but don’t swoop down to bother them. It’s like they’re being tracked. A few more scuttling demons have approached on too many legs, chittering forward with round, hungry mouths lined with rows of teeth sharp enough to grind bones, but they were easily dispatched.

Magnus’ boots are coated with sand and black demon ichor, every inch of skin gritty with fine red sand.

“I have sand in my mouth. Why didn’t we think to bring water?” Alec says unhappily as they mount yet another steep dune, shoes slipping along and leaving sliding trails with every step.

“Not much farther, look,” Magnus points at the distance. Between them and the horizon is a raised black shape, craggy and sharp like low mountains. It’s a fortress. Lilith and all of her spawn used to reside there, crawling along the walls and nesting in the spires. It’s mostly empty, now, but the sky above is teeming with life. Flapping, shrieking life armed with teeth and claws.

Alec licks his dry lips, raising his shirt to re-activate his stamina rune. The runes seem to have a much shorter life, here, sputtering out after scarcely half an hour. “You’ll make yourself sick with that,” Magnus warns. Using the same rune too many times in a row without rest can do more harm than good.

“Can’t be dead on my feet when we go head to head with a Prince of Hell,” Alec reasons, shrugging and tucking his stele away.

“Please let me do most of the talking,” Magnus says, “He thinks very little of humans, especially Shadowhunters. He might kill you to make me squirm.”

Alec gives Magnus a brazen grin. “He’ll try.” Magnus appreciates Alec trying to be light, for both their sakes, but Magnus can’t shake the image of Alec bleeding all over a dark alley out of his mind. Slack mouthed and limp. Magnus never wants to face that again.

The distance isn’t nearly as large as Magnus expected, and soon they’re nearly to the front door. Magnus wonders how much time has been warped, here, if it’s been hours or days. Or maybe even mere moments since they’ve departed.

Before he can mention as much to Alec, there’s an ungodly scream from above and a wraith makes a taildive toward them, mouth wide open and wings tucked against its back. Alec fires an explosive arrow at it and it crashes a few feet away, bursting into ground crawling creatures that Magnus shoots. He barely has enough time to look back up before Alec is shouting, firing three arrows in quick succession as more demons rain down on them, winged and slithering, screaming and gurgling with violent hunger.

Alec watches the sky, shooting them down as they come, while Magnus draws both guns at once and fires at the ones on the ground, faltering only when he has to replace his magazine clips. In the breath between reloading and clicking his next bullet into the chamber, Alec yells his name.

Something huge and sharp-clawed snatches him off of his feet and throws him through the air, catching him and landing on top of him. His guns are lying several feet away and Alec is overwhelmed with the other attacking wraiths, all Magnus can do is grab the snapping jaws with both hands and try to hold is back.

Wicked claws dig into the meat of his shoulders and he shouts, fingers coming into contact with jagged teeth as he holds its mouth open, locking his elbows to keep it from ripping into his face. A toxic string of drool drips onto his cheek, singing his skin slightly. He looks into its beady black eye and says roughly, “Father, stop this.” The demon stops fighting him, but doesn’t move, still bearing down on him. Alec cries out and Magnus shouts, “ Please! ”

Almost instantly, the demon is off of him, nails ripping out of his skin and taking flight along with all of its fellows, back to the sharp peaks of the castle before them. Magnus drops back for a moment, breathing hard, before heaving himself to his feet to retrieve his weapons and go to Alec, who is holding his side. His fingers come away wet with blood and Magnus shoves his shirt up, revealing three long, but shallow claw marks raking up his ribs.

He cups Alec’s cheek, getting a little blood on his face, “Are you alright?”

“It’s not bad. What happened?” Alec asks, hissing as he gets to his feet. Magnus follows, dusting his hands off on his pants and wiping his face.

“My father has allowed us entrance. It would be best to not keep him waiting,” Magnus replies grimly.

“I love you,” Alec says, sacred words that seem wrong in this place.

“I love you, too, Alexander. Let’s go,” Magnus says, taking Alec’s dirty hand in his and leading the way up the broken steps of the massive, uneven building. The door is huge and he has to lean his entire body against it to gain entrance.

Inside, hundreds of candles are burning, years worth of wax dripped down the walls and onto the floor. Surrounding the chain holding a partially shattered crystal chandelier are sleeping wraiths, wings folded and hanging upside down like bats. Some of them shudder and open pitch black eyes at the noise of the door opening, but most don’t even stir.

Magnus looks away from them quickly, down the long red runner. Through a pair of open double doors is what could only be called a throne room, complete with a massive, ornate gilded chair sat on a raised dais. In the chair is Magnus’ father, cane resting against the arm of it, a black crown on his head at a jaunty tilt.

Asmodeus looks back at them both, eyes piercing and face set in a dark mask. He is unmoving, and Magnus feels frozen under his gaze. He recalls all too well the pain of their last encounter, his father tearing the magic out of him and drawing it up through his mouth.

Alec moves first, tugging Magnus forward. Magnus snaps out of his trance, releasing Alec’s hand and edging in front of him, shoulders back even as he feels his own blood slipping down his arms and chest.

“Twice in one century. How fortunate for me, my son,” Asmodeus says when they reach the foot of the steps leading up to the dais, smiling wickedly. “And you’ve brought a guest.”

Alec wisely doesn’t speak, but also don’t back down an inch, and Asmodeus laughs. “So serious. I assume this is not a gift for me?” He gestures at Alec with a ringed hand.

“I’m afraid he’s spoken for,” Magnus says stiffly.

“What do you think of my new abode? Thank you, for the number you did on Lilith. I haven’t heard from her since the very ground beneath my feet shuddered at her downfall. It seems our little agreement has served you well,” Asmodeus says, leveling Magnus with a goading expression. “It’s not often that I am so generous.”

Magnus feels his jaw tighten, but says only, “Have you found our deal beneficial, as well?”

Asmodeus grins, using his cane as leverage to rise from his seat and go down the few steps, passing Magnus and Alec, heading for the long table at one side of the room. It’s strewn with fresh fruit, and Asmodeus takes a bright red apple in hand, rubbing it on his shirt before biting into it. “I’ve never done anything that hasn’t benefited me. A trait I thought I passed on to you, as well. I keep your magic close, indeed,” he taps a fingernail against a silver pendant hanging from his neck. Magnus gazes at it, and sees that it pulses with a low blue glow.

He feels Alec stiffen behind him. Asmodeus is wearing Magnus’ magic as an accessory.

Abruptly, he says, “I’ve come here to make a new deal.”

Asmodeus looks up at him, glamor on his eyes gone, cat eyes shining out at him as if he’s just heard a joke. “Why would I make a new deal? I’m very happy with the one we’ve already struck. I’m more powerful than ever before, Lilith is gone, and I got the thing I’ve always wanted.”

“My magic?” Magnus asks.

“You. I have you, Magnus, finally. You gave me your magic willingly and now I get to watch as you wither and die, and when you die I’ll take your soul, too,” Asmodeus says slowly, as if he’s explaining something achingly simple.

Magnus swallows. “I have something you want more,” he says.

“What might that be?” Asmodeus asks, going back to his seat and slouching low, looking bored.

“Freedom,” Magnus says, and sees Asmodeus’ eyes flash. “Power is useless to you, now. You’re bound to this realm. I can break the spell which binds you here. In exchange for my magic, I will.”

“You must really be desperate,” Asmodeus laughs, but Magnus can hear the hunger in his voice.

“Maybe. But so are you. Desperate to get out of here. Unless you want to spend the rest of your days lording over a few dozen mindless wraiths and their slug friends,” Magnus says breezily.

Asmodeus smashes his cane into the ground by his feet, magic blasting outward and sweeping Alec up and forcing him hard into the wall behind them, keeping him held there. “Do not mock me. I could raize you both where you stand.” Alec grunts, trying to move, but is held fast and powerless.

“And stay here forever. Father, see reason. This is the better deal. You’d be free to do as you like. Have a hundred more children just like me to keep you strong,” Magnus says hurriedly.

Rising, Asmodeus moves to stand directly before Magnus, barely three inches between them. “There will never be another like you. My prodigal son. Come home at last, to make it up to his father.” He sticks his hand out between them to shake. “You have a deal. A new deal.” When Magnus takes his hand, Asmodeus pulls him in. “I always knew you’d realize your mistake. Consider yourself forgiven,” he whispers in Magnus’ ear before releasing him, yanking the pendant on his neck so the chain snaps, and handing it to Magnus.

“Open the pendant back in your realm and your magic will return to you. When it does, the spell on me will be broken, as per our accord,” Asmodeus says conversationally. “And if you ever try to bind me again, I get your magic back and you die a horrible, painful death.”

Alec drops to the floor with a gasp, rising shakily to his feet. “And you, young man, I will meet you properly one day soon,” Asmodeus calls to him, before raising his hands. “Until then, get out of my realm.”

Magnus and Alec are blown backward by a strong wind, into a burning red portal. They both land flat on their backs in the loft in Brooklyn, gasping for air, Magnus’ hand clenched tight around the pendant. As soon as he can move, he’s on his knees, breaking the silver pendant open.

The magic inside swirls for a moment, endless and shining and alive , before surging outward. It fills Magnus, entering him through his mouth, nose and eyes, rushing through his entire body. The magic settles in every inch of him, sliding along with his blood and pounding to the tune of his heart. Magnus falls back hard onto his ass, glowing slightly, tears spilling out of his eyes.

For the first time in a month, he feels complete. He feels whole, and energized, and healthy.

With a cry of joy, he thrusts magic out of both hands, changing the entire interior of the loft. The walls bleed a new color, the art rearranges itself, his closet is ordered by color. He reaches for Alec, healing magic swelling over the Shadowhunter’s skin, healing him and cleaning him of sand and ichor and blood. He does the same to himself and then falls on Alec, kissing him hard, magic still pulsing out of him.

It goes everywhere; it feeds the cats and sends a fire message to Isabelle and Catarina, it turns on music Magnus hasn’t heard in years and streams out of his loft, checking and securing the wards. It fills Alec as well, making him laugh. It doesn’t do anything, just crackles along his skin and sparks harmlessly off of him.

Magnus is still crying, but he’s never felt so light. He wants to lay here on the floor with Alec and his magic forever. “What do you want for dinner?” he asks breathlessly. “Thai?” Steaming Thai food lands on the table. “And champagne.” A bottle clatters next to it, held in a bucket of ice to keep it chilled.

“Magnus,” Alec says, voice rough. “It worked.”

“I know,” Magnus says, grinning madly. “I know.”

Before either of them can speak again, there’s a sharp rapping on the door. “Magnus Bane?” an unfamiliar calls.

Magnus pecks Alec on the lips again, frowning. “You dish us out some dinner, I’ll see who that is.” He rises, looking down to insure he doesn’t look like he crawled back out of Hell, and opens the door.

Lorenzo Rey is standing there, flanked by two warlocks in black, the sigil of the Spiral Labyrinth on their breasts. “Magnus Bane,” Lorenzo says, with venom dripping from his voice, “You’re under arrest for sedition and assault.”

Chapter Text

The holding cells of the Spiral Labyrinth are a unique mix of ancient technology and magic. Unlike Shadowhunters, warlocks have not integrated technology into their existence. The cells still have barred walls and doors, the halls lit only by candles and witchlight. Magic does not blend well with mundane technology. It’s why Magnus is inclined, even after all of this time, to do most of his work by hand.

He has never been to this part of the Spiral Labyrinth. Not many warlocks have, unless they’re being tried as criminals by their own people. And warlocks do not generally try their own as criminals, it’s often the Clave that does that.

The Labyrinth does not strictly follow the rules of physics or reality, existing on a plane altogether separate from anything else. It is, in a way, its own universe, the dimensions constantly shifting to accommodate ancient magic that allows it to exist. No one is old enough to know who created it, or why, but warlocks have used it for millennia as a place to study, to carry out judiciary issues, and to reflect. The warlocks who dwell here are little more than monks, committed to knowledge and honing their skills.

Magnus was offered a place here when he was a much younger man, but he had no desire to exist within a gilded cage, rarely allowed out to stretch his wings.

He paces his own steel cage, stalking back and forth, wall to wall. He sits on the bench, rises, glares out of the bars and across the hall into the vacant cell in front of him, goes on his toes to peer out of the narrow barred window. There’s nothing outside but perfectly black night, which makes him feel even more claustrophobic.

But he has his magic. He is Magnus Bane, and he has his magic back. His immortality back. With this, he can get through anything.

Even hours upon hours alone in a tiny square room with nothing but his thoughts. He doesn’t bother calling out, his jailers will come when they are ready.

Warlocks do not have what many would call a strict societal system. Warlocks are individualists, their culture built around magic and immortality, two things that can cause people to become, more or less, hermits. But there is an elected Council, made of nine ancient warlocks who serve for terms of two-hundred years, who make new laws for warlocks to follow and pass rulings on trials brought before them.

Beneath the Council are the High Warlocks, the only ones who are able to beseech the Council to preside over a hearing. Warlocks who break the few laws that there are are usually punished accordingly by the High Warlock of their area. North America, being such a large place, has at least fifty High Warlocks at any one time, usually more, depending on how jurisdictions are broken up among the states.

New York currently only has two High Warlocks, one in Brooklyn and the other in Albany, entire due to the fact that the High Warlock of Albany refuses to step down from her position and has for as long as Magnus has resided in New York. Magnus had relinquished to her, agreeing that anything north of Colombia was her problem.

Disagreements between warlocks almost never make it all the way to a Council hearing. Most warlocks have enough sense to settle between themselves, or take it to the nearest High Warlock. Lorenzo Rey has never had an overabundance of sense, something Magnus curses him for over and over as he putters around his tiny cell.

Finally, a door some distance away clangs open and shut and footsteps approach. Magnus slides his arms through the bars up to his elbows and leans forward casually, waiting. The warlock that comes is someone Magnus only knows vaguely by the name of Alister Crow, who has a sharp face and sharper horns sticking out of his dark red hair. “You have a message,” Alister says, handing him a slip of paper. Magnus doesn’t look at it, only stares at Alister some more. “Your hearing is set for tomorrow, Catarina Loss has volunteered to present your defense. High Warlock Rey is pushing for banishment from the continent and stripping you of the ability to hold any future titles. I’d hope your friend brings an air tight defense, Bane.”

Alister turns and goes. Only once he’s gone does Magnus look at the message, smiling at the paper. Warlocks of Brooklyn are willing to testify in your defense. You’ll come home soon. I love you. -Alexander

He supposes Alec must have gotten the fire message to Tessa, communication from the Spiral Labyrinth to the outside world is limited to warlocks with clearance only. He tucks the paper into his pocket, using his jacket as a pillow on the hard bench and closing his eyes.

The city is on fire. Great flames lick up the skyscrapers, gnashing their burning teeth against the sky. The smoke is choking, billowing upward in a plume of destruction. Magnus can see it all from his balcony, leaning against the railing, no longer made of wrought iron but bone. The Brooklyn Bridge cracks in two, falling into the river.

Blood floods the streets, pouring in from all directions, filling the grid of New York with coppery salt. Mundanes float along the new red river, belly up, drowned in it.

Magnus turns away from the carnage, looking inside instead. His home is full of dripping candles, mounted on the mirrored walls, great shadows bouncing over the velvet furnishings and and glinting off the bars of the golden cage in the middle of the room.

Seated inside, lounging against the bars and holding a glass of wine, is Alec. He looks rather unconcerned with the entire thing, eyes on Magnus, mouth tilted into a slight frown.

“You’ll be safe here,” Magnus says, with a voice that is in no way his own. “Now and forever.”

The first thought Magnus has upon waking is that Alec doesn’t even drink wine. Asmodeus has sent Magnus dreams before, but not usually as heavily soaked in obvious metaphors. It was straight from a Victorian pulp novel, and leaves a sour taste in Magnus’ mouth and a crick in his neck. The point was clear though: Asmodeus is happy to be free, and he has not forgotten the things that he wants from Magnus.

The second thought Magnus has is that he is not alone. He sits upright and swings his legs off of the bench, looking toward the door. Standing behind the bars is a familiar dark face, framed by black hair, gray eyes eternally thoughtful.

“Tessa. Do you always watch men while they sleep?” he asks, voice rough. He rises, back cracking, and approaches.

She smirks, but only shrugs. “One hardly gets the chance, in a place like this,” she gestures around them. The crest of the Spiral Labyrinth sewn into her shirt with a silvery thread shines at him. “Did you get your message?”

Magnus pats his pocket and smiles. “He’s a tenacious one, your Alec. I can see why you like him,” she says. Magnus’ smile grows.

“Why are you here?” he asks. “Won’t you get in trouble?”

“Don’t you know enough to know that I’m not afraid of a little trouble? I thought you’d only believe it if it came from a friend: Lorenzo dropped the charges against you this morning,” she says.

Magnus’ mouth drops open. “He what ?”

“Dropped all the charges. With sincerest apologies. You’re free to go,” Tessa replies, raising her hand to the lock on the door. It glows blue, then red, burning with a seal and the door swings open. “Any idea why he’d go to all this trouble, just to give up?”

“Yes, actually. Thank you, Tessa,” Magnus says, taking her hand briefly. She frowns, but lets him go. He walks down the hall, and doesn’t look back.

When Magnus opens the door to his loft, he’s ambushed. Alec nearly knocks him over with the force of his hug, wrapping his arms tight around Magnus’ back and breathing his name into his neck. Magnus returns the hug, rubbing Alec’s back up and down and kissing the side of his head.

Catarina and Isabelle are on their feet behind him, Cat clutching a half empty beer bottle and Isabelle looking marginally less put together than usual. Magnus can tell it’s been a long night.

“We were so fucking worried,” Alec says, pulling away only to kiss Magnus soundly on the mouth, cupping his cheeks.

Magnus returns the kiss, pulling back first with a smile. “I’ve been in worse scrapes than this,” he says, nudging Alec playfully. Alec only frowns at him. Magnus deflates, and says, “Lorenzo dropped the charges.”

“We heard. Your friend Tessa contacted us,” Isabelle says, wrapping her arms around Magnus in her own, much gentler and brief, hug. “Why?”

Magnus and Alec share a look over her head, and Magnus says, delicately, “There are other players whom, I assume, would rather me nice and reachable in the near future.”

“Asmodeus?” Catarina says, and Magnus hisses. With the Greater Demon now free to roam, it’s foolish to speak his name aloud, even on protected ground. Names have power. “The spell is really broken.”

“It would seem so. He sent me a dream last night, I’m sure he had something to do with Rey. I hope he didn’t kill him. He was a bastard, but I wouldn’t wish a meeting with my father on anyone,” Magnus sighs wearily, sitting down. His bones and joints feel stiff. Even though his immortality has returned, he feels old. Wrung out.

Alec clasps his shoulder and rubs it gently. “Isabelle, will you take care of the Institute for me? I think I’m needed elsewhere for a while,” he says to his sister, who nods.

Her and Catarina bid their goodbyes shortly after, and Magnus catches the way they keep looking at the bruises under his eyes and the way he’s hunched in on himself. He ignores it.

“Would it be too much to hope for, do you think, to have a quiet night in? Just one?” Magnus asks, flopping back onto the couch, arm falling off the side to brush the floor.

“God, I hope not,” Alec says, settling between Magnus’ legs, head pillowed on his chest.

Magnus smiles, running a hand through Alec’s hair. “I got your message. Thank you, Alexander,” he says.

“Of course. But it didn’t really matter, in the end,” Alec replies lowly.

“It did. Of course it did. It mattered to me,” Magnus says gently. Alec hums, eyes closing.

“Can we just lay here for a bit?” Alec asks, and Magnus nods. “Just for a bit. I need to… catch my breath.” He nuzzles his cheek into Magnus’ shirt, breaths slowing until he’s emitting small snores, Magnus’ fingers still playing with his hair.

Magnus beams, filled with so much love for this man, sleeping on top of him. It’s astounding the comfort he finds in it, soft snores and watery afternoon light, Brooklyn far below them and problems, for now, left firmly outside the front door. He settles in, closing his own eyes, willing to spend these next few hours in this exact moment.

Chapter Text

The party is in full swing, the loft filled to the brim with warlocks. Voices and the clink of glasses and laughter come together in a cacophonous symphony. Magnus is floating, champagne glass in hand, Madzie balanced on his hip, Alec to his right welcoming warlocks into their home. “Congratulations on your reinstatement,” someone says, passing by. Magnus thanks them, kissing Madzie on the cheek before placing her gently back on the ground.

Alec touches his shoulder. “You look happy,” he says, eyes crinkling with his smile.

Magnus beams. “I am happy.” The vote was a landslide. Lorenzo submitted his resignation as High Warlock later the same day that he dropped the charges against Magnus, leaving the country soon after. Magnus heard he went back to Spain, but doesn’t care. He also happens to know that Lorenzo is under investigation for defamation and misconduct, and hopes that he gets all that’s coming to him.

In the span of a week, Magnus got his magic and his title back. He could fetch the moon from the sky if he wanted, so endless was his joy. The power in his veins is so satisfying, a steady weight on him after so long of feeling unstable.

“Magnus!” Maryse calls, entering the loft and heading straight for him. She’s wearing a short sleeved dress, showing her bare arms and throat, the lack of runes seeming to upset her less than it used to. In one hand, she carries a bottle of champagne, presenting it to him cheekily. “As per tradition.” He grins at her. Luke is following close behind, clasping Magnus’ hand in his tightly.

“See? This will always be your city, Magnus,” he says, patting Magnus’ arm and shaking Alec’s hand as well.

Magnus and Alec both accept hugs from Maryse, who then sinks into Luke’s side in the room full of strangers. Not quite a member of the Shadow World or the mundane, she seems to be unsure how to fit in. Magnus is struck with a pang of sadness on her behalf, remembering the woman who used to command every room she entered. Even if he held nothing in his heart but disdain for her then, it’s hard to watch that very same woman look so alone in a room packed to bursting.

“Have you met my friend Catarina? I’m sure Alec has told you about her,” he says, placing an arm on Maryse’s back and steering her toward Cat, seated on the couch with Madzie in her lap. Cat smiles blandly, but catches Magnus’ encouraging look.

She extends a hand, and Maryse takes it, smiling gently at Madzie. “I like your scarf,” she says, kneeling down to get on Madzie’s level. Catarina’s expression softens, and Magnus leaves them to it, winking at Luke.

He returns to Alec, who is having a conversation with Isabelle, head tilted back in a laugh. He stops, taking in that image, drinking Alec in. Having his fill. He’s so beautiful. Happy and wearing a well-fitting suit, hair in need of a trim. If Magnus feels more grounded, Alec seems more free.

He wraps his arms around Alec’s middle, resting his chin on Alec’s shoulder, breathing him in.

Isabelle smiles at them and says, “Happiness looks good on both of you. Congratulations, Magnus.” Before heading off to the snacks table, mumbling about chocolate covered strawberries calling her name.

“Hey,” Alec says, placing his hand over both of Magnus’ on his stomach briefly before turning in the circle of Magnus’ arms, putting his hands on Magnus’ chest. “Good party.”

“I do try,” Magnus replies.

“And yet everything you do seems so effortless,” Alec kisses Magnus chastely, mindful of his mother a few feet away. Magnus pulls away, frowning, dark thoughts creeping up on him. “What?”

“I have everything that I want. But the cost,” Magnus says lowly.

“Magnus, you were dying. I’d make that deal a million times over again, for this. What we have, right now, will be worth it,” Alec says firmly, and Magnus wonders how it came to pass that Magnus would be the one fretting over consequences while Alec has thrown the world to the wolves.

But perhaps they were like that the entire time, Magnus thinks, remembering how fierce Alec’s face was when he walked down that aisle, sealing his fate with a kiss. When it came to Magnus, Alec never had any inhibitions. Magnus feels overwhelmed by the almost confrontational way in which Alec loves, daring anyone to test it. Their families, their worlds, his own mortality could not stand against him in this.

“And,” Alec adds, “you have your magic and all of Brooklyn behind you, I have every Shadowhunter in New York. Whatever comes next, we will fight. And we will win.”

Magnus breathes out a laugh through his nose, dropping his face into the crook of Alec’s neck. “You really do never cease to amaze, Alexander. How am I so lucky?” he asks, looking up.

“You’re always there for me when I need you. All I’m doing is returning the favor, no matter what. I love you,” Alec shrugs, leaning their foreheads together.

“I love you, too,” Magnus says.

“Enjoy the party, Magnus. It’s all for you,” Alec says, pushing Magnus away gently and finding them both flutes of champagne. Magnus clinks his glass against Alec’s and drinks, letting the sweetness travel from his lips all the way deep in his chest.

His phone ringing for the second time in as many minutes is what finally lures Magnus out of his very comfortable sleep, sprawled out and chasing Alec to the very edge of the bed, seeking the blankets Alec has hogged in the night. Alec groans at him, a clear complaint, and Magnus takes pity on what is sure to be a raging champagne hangover and answers the phone.

“Humanity has really come a long way, you know. This telephone? Amazing,” Asmodeus says when Magnus answers, making his blood run cold. He shakes Alec’s arm roughly, waking him and putting the phone on speaker.

“Father,” Magnus says, clearing his throat.

“I thought I’d give you a call. Congratulations on your reinstatement. High Warlock of Manhattan, was it? That other man really wasn’t suited for it at all. Nearly stained his very expensive suit as soon as I said hello. I’m quite glad your city has gone back to the stronger stock,” Asmodeus continues conversationally.

“You called to congratulate me?” Magnus asks dubiously.

“Of course. I’m proud of my son. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop by. The world has changed a lot since I was last let out of my cage, much to see. Much to do,” Asmodeus replies.

“What are you going to do?” Magnus says, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“A little of everything, I think. After all, I have all the time in the world, now, thanks to you. My loyal, generous son. Rest assured, you’ll hear from me soon. I have plans, Magnus. And one of them is to finally meet that young man of yours properly.” Magnus looks over at Alec, whose eyes are wide. “For now, however, I have to run. Call anytime, son.”

The line goes dead and Magnus sets his phone back on the bedside table, sighing heavily. “Shit.”

Alec shifts closer to Magnus, humming. “Do you think he’ll be calling regularly?”

Magnus glares at Alec in the dark, muttering, “Alexander, my demonic prince of a father is loose upon the world. Is now the time for jokes?”

“No, I’m serious. He’s loose upon the world with a cellphone. Is he going to want to come over for dinner? I don’t know if my mother is ready to share a table with a demon, even if he is your dad,” Alec replies. Magnus can’t help himself, he lets loose a small chuckle.

“This is ridiculous. We should be planning on how to destroy him,” Magnus says firmly, but then his mouth quirks into an involuntary smile.

“We will. Tomorrow. For now, look. He isn’t threatening you, there have been no catastrophes in the sixty hours it has been since he’s been freed, and you’re the High Warlock. We can handle anything,” Alec says placatingly.

“What is this new attitude?” Magnus asks, flipping onto his side to face Alec.

Alec shrugs. “It’s like you said. I want to enjoy the here and now, with you. If I’m going to avoid going crazy, I need to stop borrowing trouble. Obviously, there will be times when that mentality does not work for me, but I’m trying, here, Magnus. I almost lost you. You almost lost me. If we’re going to constantly have one or the other of us in mortal peril, I can’t not appreciate the times when we’re not. When we’re here, in bed, safe.

“So, yes, there is a Greater Demon running around on Earth right now. And I will have to come up with a way to tell the Clave about it without putting either of us in a position to be arrested for letting him out of Hell in the first place. That’s my first priority tomorrow morning. Which is a few hours away, still. And I don’t think he’s going to burn down the city while we’re sleeping,” Alec says, and Magnus is quiet for several moments, taken slightly aback.

“I think you should move in officially,” are the next words out of his mouth. They come out before Magnus can stop them, and he feels heat flooding his chest.

“What happened to taking it slow?” Alec asks, smile in his voice.

“Fuck that. I feel at home, here. With your clothes and your toothbrush and your coffee in my house. This is what I want every night, to fall asleep and wake up beside you,” Magnus says.

“Okay. Yeah, okay. I’ll move in,” Alec says, leaning into kiss Magnus.

Pulling away, Magnus says, “Welcome home.”