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Acute nerves at standing in the line-up for the nation’s most popular game show, The Inquizitor, has left Alec’s skin glazed with sweat and triggered a plethora of childhood tics that serve to make him look even more anxious than he feels.
Hearing Izzy’s, Great start, hermano, loud and clear in his head, Alec takes a steadying breath as he tries to isolate his fidgeting to a lowkey foot shuffle on the illuminated marker, ignoring the pseudo sympathetic smile from the glamour puss opposite. You’re going down, Lilith, he promises with an internal sneer, rooting his feet to the spot.
Beyond the booming thud of his blood pressure, Alec hears the synthesised title music begin and notes the floor manager’s cue for the contestants to enter their own designated, sound-proofed booth, barely remembering to place his hands on the ID panel alongside to avoid bouncing off the blacked-out door of the surprisingly sturdy column.
Silently chanting, I’ve got this, as he steps inside doesn’t ease his symptoms but the dulcet tones of the host, Victor Aldertree, blessing the speakers above him works wonders. Until Alec realises he’s expected to answer the man during introductions. Exposed by the golden backlight that now makes him visible, Alec opens his eyes to see the entire studio, including his family sitting somewhere in the audience, awaiting his response.
Squaring his shoulders and channelling some version of Jace’s confidence, he launches into his spiel.
‘Hi, I’m Alec Lightwood, an educational counselor from New York, and I’m here representing the charity, Isabelle’s Institute, which provides emotional and practical support for victims of substance abuse.’
Victor’s gracious smile is the last thing he sees before pride-preserving obscurity returns in the form of subdued interior lighting, and the remaining competitors challenging for the $50,000 prize money announce themselves, allowing a few moments to focus.
His sister, and all those she and Raphael are trying to help, were relying on him to put his capacity for retaining innumerable facts to good use, and his competitive pride, let alone his compassionate heart, wouldn’t let his preference for anonymity jeopardise trying to secure some much-needed funding.
Polite applause heralds the first round and Alec readies his slightly steadier hands as the touch-screen display appears before him, wondering where his main competition will come from.
Twelve intensive rounds later, he knows.
Magnus Bane, a paediatric surgeon from Brooklyn, supporting a charity that organises family holidays for terminally ill children called The Portal Project, is a formidable opponent.
And breathtakingly beautiful, Alec decides when they inevitably face each other in the final stage. Alec’s victory is taken graciously and they shake hands, oblivious to their surroundings during the wrap.
‘One more question?’ Magnus purrs, eyes hopeful.
‘Sure.’
‘Want to get a drink after this?’
‘Yeah. Oh wait, I can’t-’
An elegant finger presses his paper-dry lips.
‘I’m sorry, but I can only accept your first answer, Alec.’
Fighting a blush, he nods. ‘I’d love that.’
It’s the easiest answer he’s ever given.
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