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His magic won’t settle.
Magnus can feel it snapping underneath his skin, restless and volatile, but he doesn’t have the energy to try to control it.
He can hear Izzy on the phone, checking in with Simon to see if he has managed to find some useful information as to Lilith’s whereabouts. When Magnus left for his apothecary, Alec was still standing in the middle of the living-room, expression lost and wracked by guilt, and Magnus wishes with all that he has that there was something he could do to help, but the reality of the situation is that he needs time to replenish his magic, or he won’t be of any use at all.
But time, as he is acutely aware, is something that they don’t have. There is a war coming, and they are painfully unprepared for it.
Sighing, he massages his neck. The sensation of hellfire burning into his skin still lingers; however, Lilith’s visit wasn’t entirely without its benefits.
If I didn’t fear starting a war with your father, I would happily oblige.
A plan is forming in Magnus’s mind, individual pieces slowly sliding through the thick molasses of exhaustion to slot together. He doesn’t like it—in fact, he shudders at the mere thought of having to go through with it, and maybe that’s why he didn’t consider it sooner—but it might be their best chance of stopping Lilith and put an end to this mess before it spins even more out of control.
He told Alexander that he would do anything in his power to fix this. Seems he might just have to deliver on his promise.
“Magnus?”
Magnus’s neck twinges as he looks up. Alec is standing in the doorway, the hopelessness from before gone from his eyes and replaced by a blank mask that reminds Magnus of the hard, repressed young man he met little over two months ago.
His heart gives a painful tug.
“Izzy is in the guest room, resting,” Alec says. His eyebrows are pulled down into a frown. “I think you probably should, too.”
Magnus waves a hand.
“That is not necessary. I assure you, I’m fine.”
Alec’s lips twitch, but the end result is too sad to be called a smile. Stepping further into the room, he moves close enough to cup Magnus’s cheek. It isn’t until his thumb starts caressing the skin underneath Magnus’s left eye in a familiar gesture that realization strikes.
Oh.
Magnus blinks and feels the glamor reappear. It requires more effort than he’s entirely comfortable with, and the look Alec gives him tells him that Alec can somehow tell.
“Alexander—” he tries, but his boyfriend is already shaking his head.
“Look, we don’t really have a choice. We need to regroup, and approach this with clear heads, or we’re just gonna get ourselves killed.”
Magnus can tell how much he hates the words coming out of his mouth, how hard it is for him to stay put when all he wants to do is run after Jace. But he is right, of course. And no matter how much his magic keeps humming its displeasure, a manifestation of his own impatience, Magnus knows that as long as he remains here, stubbornly going through the books, Alec won’t rest, either, and his boyfriend is already too close to his breaking point.
Magnus also recognizes that Alec needs this: needs to feel like there’s something, however minor, that he can do for someone he cares about, and that, more than anything, is what makes him give in.
“You’re right,” he says. “I think we could all benefit from a few hours of rest.”
Shoulders relaxing incrementally, Alec takes his hand and leads him from the apothecary. Every step toward the bedroom magnifies Magnus’s exhaustion, and by the time the bed comes into view, he is all but ready to fall face first onto the soft pillows.
Unbuttoning and shrugging out of his vest is like moving his arms through clay. His hand once again goes to massage his neck.
“What happened?”
Magnus looks up and is immediately confronted with Alec’s concerned frown.
“Lilith. It’s fine, I’m all right,” he assures, but Alec is already sitting him down on the bed, kneeling in front of him. He tilts Magnus’s head and inspect his throat and neck, although there is nothing to see but unmarred skin.
“Do you need my strength?” he asks, and Magnus smiles despite himself.
“No.” He squeezes Alec’s wrist. “I’m fine, Alexander. Really.”
He sighs.
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out the way we wanted them to.”
Alec shakes his head.
“It’s not your fault,” he says, so quick to absolve anyone but himself. “We’ll find another way.”
Magnus doesn’t tell him that he may have already found one. He knows how Alec is likely to react, and neither of them is up for yet another fight right now.
But he knows what he needs to do, no matter how much his stomach churns at the idea.
“Yes,” he intones. “We will.”