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It all starts when Magnus gets shot through the chest by an arrow with delicate red feathers.
It’s an occurrence that would be terrifying even if he could see who had just shot him, but Magnus is alone in his loft. He’d been reclining on his sofa with a drink in one hand and a book in the other when the arrow had materialized and planted itself in his chest.
He hisses in pain, red wine spilling on his robe, book thumping as it hits the floor. Magnus’ first instinct is to reach out with his magic, to scan for any invisible enemies that could have somehow made it past his wards. He finds nothing. He really is alone.
And the arrow is starting to hurt.
He blinks at the arrow stretching out of his chest and decides it’s best to simply bite the bullet. Or arrow as the case may be. He wraps a hand around the shaft of the arrow and pulls.
He’s lucky the arrowhead hadn’t gone deep, leaving behind only a hole in his silk robe and a flesh wound, healed easily with a bit of magic.
With his skin stitched back together, Magnus turns his eyes to the mysterious arrow. His blood still decorates the tip, but he ignores that in favor of taking in the runes drawn on the arrow. Of course it belongs to a shadowhunter, he thinks ruefully, it’s always shadowhunters.
Except. There’s not a shadowhunter in his loft. There’s only one plausible explanation for how the arrow could have gotten into the loft alone and that explanation chills Magnus to his bone.
It’s his soulmate’s arrow. Which means his soulmate is a shadowhunter. His soulmate might be trying to kill him.
Magnus groans, dropping the blood-tipped arrow onto the couch beside him. Fuck.
No one knows quite how soulmates work. There’s likely some level of magic involved, but it’s a difficult subject to study, even for Warlocks.
All that is known for certain is that when both soulmates are twenty-five or older- on the younger one’s birthday- the thing most precious to them will fly to their soulmate’s heart. Usually it’s not something as dangerous as an arrow, but Magnus supposes he’s just lucky that way. A shadowhunter soulmate and an arrow to the chest- not the best start to his day.
Magnus had spent centuries adjusting to the fact that he probably just didn’t have a soulmate. The arrow changed everything. Because now Magnus has a shadowhunter soulmate and a bloodied rune-covered arrow.
And he’s missing his most precious item.
Which… he hasn’t quite figured out what that might be. His mother’s keris dagger is still sealed away where it belongs. His mementos from past lovers are still in the box where he keeps them. His signet rings are still on his fingers.
It isn’t until nightfall that he realizes what’s missing. He should have seen it sooner, but it’s not unusual for his cats to wander off during the day. It’s only when he lays out the Chairman’s dinner and calls for him, with no luck, that he realizes.
Magnus’ power swirls around him and he feels his glamour drop. He’s going to burn down every damned Institute in the world for this. He’ll force his way into Idris if that’s what it takes.
His soulmate doesn’t have a piece of jewelry or a weapon, no that would be too easy and his soulmate is clearly a difficult person. Because his stupid shadowhunter soulmate has his cat.
Magnus uses one of Chairman’s Meow’s toys to track his cat to the New York Institute where the spell goes on the fritz due to all the angelic magic of the place. So, as the sun sinks below the Manhattan skyline, Magnus finds himself on the steps of the abandoned church, seeing through the glamours and wards he’d placed, at the New York Institute.
He takes a breath, pulling his magic under control. It wouldn’t do to burn the place down without at least trying to negotiate first.
He tucks the Chariman’s fake mouse toy into his jacket pocket and climbs the steps, pushing the front doors open with a small burst of magic. He might be attempting to stay polite, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to give them the chance to turn him away.
He pulls up his magic around him in a shield, blocking a dozen blades from six startled Nephilim as alarms begin to sound up and down the halls.
“Oh, would you relax?” Magnus asks, exasperated as a blond shadowhunter swings his Seraph blade at the magic that’s wrapped around Magnus. “I’m just here for my cat.”
Two of the shadow hunters pause, but the other four continue their attempts at getting through his magic.
The blond, blade still held high, asks, “Why would your cat be here?”
Magnus rolls his eyes, “I’m sure you know how soulmates work. Just let me track him and I’ll be gone.”
“Why should we believe you?”
Magnus’ patience gives out. He thinks it would normally last longer, but this has been a stressful day of being shot and realizing his soulmate is a shadowhunter and having his cat stolen by the universe. He reacts without really thinking, pushing out his magic, sending just enough to have the Nephilim around him falling back, uninjured.
Deeper inside the Institute, his tracking spell resumes, leading him down a side hallway. A few shadowhunters continue trying to stop him, but he ignores them. They stole his cat, he has every right to get it back.
He follows the spell to a closed door with a golden nameplate announcing it as belonging to the Head of the NYI. A man named Alexander Lightwood.
Magnus rolls his eyes again. Of course his shadowhunter soulmate is the head of an Institute. And a Lightwood . The universe must truly hate him.
Magnus pushes the door open with a burst of magic and relaxes when he sees Chairman Meow perched atop a wooden desk, licking his paw, blinking at Magnus like he’s confused to see the warlock in such a state of panic.
Magnus steps inside the office, glancing around the space for any sign of other life, but finding nothing. He shuts the door behind him, sealing it with magic, and lets his shields fall. In the next instant, he’s across the room, picking up his cat, cooing softly at it.
He’s so distracted the Chairman that he misses the door at the side of the room. And, when it opens, he doesn’t react quite fast enough. He hears the squeak and turns to face it, but a sharp pain in his leg tells him he’s too slow. He doesn’t bother looking down at the arrow he knows is protruding from his thigh, focusing on the shadowhunter with the bow.
“What is it with you Nephilim and your arrows?” Magnus practically growls, letting the Chairman jump from his arms, trusting his cat to hide while he deals with the shadowhunter.
“Why are you attacking my Institute?” The Nephilim asks from the doorway, bow held in strong hands, another arrow already notched. Even given the situation, Magnus can’t deny the man is attractive, tall with dark hair, a distinct jawline, and hazel eyes.
Magnus pulls his magic up around him in another shield, but he can feel his strength draining. He just hopes he has enough left to make it out of this alive. He can call Catarina and get her to heal his newest injury if need be, though he doesn’t look forward to explaining how he came by it.
“I’m not attacking anything, I came to collect my cat,” Magnus states, nodding to where Chairman Meow is wrapping around the shadowhunter’s ankles. The traitor.
Magnus curls his hand around the shaft of the arrow still in his leg, realizing it’s only going to impede him if he has to fight, and yanks it out. It’d gone deeper than the first one, being flung from an actual bow this time, and he grits his teeth against the pain. It’s not until he’s holding the arrow in his hand that he realizes he recognizes it. Not the arrow itself, but the way the runes are drawn on it, the delicate red feathers at the top.
“He’s your cat?” The shadowhunter asks, lowering his bow just as Magnus arrives at the realization that this is his soulmate. His extremely attractive soulmate who has now shot him twice in one day.
“These are your angel-forsaken arrows?” Magnus exclaims, tossing it to the floor and pressing a hand to the wound in his thigh.
The shadowhunter, Alexander- Magnus is assuming based on the sign on the door- drops the bow and rushes over, his face scrunching in worry. “Shit, I shot you. I- I’m sorry, I thought you were attacking. Let me help?”
Magnus hesitates, not wanting to let his guard down, but Alexander seems sincerely apologetic, watching Magnus with wide eyes and waiting for his agreement. Magnus sighs and lets his magic shield fall away, lowering himself into the chair behind the desk so he can peer at the hole in his pants where the fabric is becoming dark and sticky with blood. A robe and a pair of nice pants both ruined.
Alexander kneels beside him, taking out a dagger. Before Magnus can react, Alexander is cutting away the fabric of his pants so he can see the damage done. Magnus mourns the loss of his clothing, but lets the shadowhunter examine the damage.
“I’ll grab some bandages and turn off the alarms,” Alexander says, rising to his feet and rushing out of the office.
Magnus sighs, leaning back in the chair, attempting to summon enough magic to his fingers to heal his leg. He gets a couple sad sparks that fail to do any real good. It looks like he’ll be doing this the mundane way.
The Chairman hops onto the desk beside him and nuzzles his face against Magnus’ shoulder, a small comfort.
The alarms outside the door stop going off and Alexander returns a few moments later, hands full of first aid supplies. He dumps them on the desk and kneels before Magnus without hesitating, making himself vulnerable without pause.
He douses a rag with disinfectant and glances up at Magnus with his colorful eyes. “This might hurt.”
Magnus can’t help the flicker of tender amusement in his chest. “Alexander, I’m a centuries old High Warlock. I’ve been shot twice today. I think I can get through a little disinfectant.”
Alexander looks away, gently using the rag to clean Magnus’ leg. “Twice?”
“You didn’t miss your other arrow?” Magnus asks, voice dry, hand going to his healed chest. “Your most precious possession.”
Alexander glances up with wide eyes at where Magnus is touching his chest. “Fuck. Are you okay?”
Magnus feels a bit of his quiet anger fade. Alexander has to be the most earnest, open shadowhunter he’s ever met. He looks truly worried about Magnus even as he patches up Magnus’ thigh. “I’m fine, perks of having magic.”
Alexander nods once, but he doesn’t lose any of the tension in his body as he wraps a bandage around Magnus’ leg. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think my arrow would… and I did mean to shoot you, but I didn’t know it was you .”
Magnus sighs. “I understand. I should have asked to speak to the Head of the Institute, but it’s been a rough day.”
“I’m sorry,” Alexander says again as he pushes to his feet, fidgeting with his hands now that he isn’t bandaging Magnus. “I know I love my arrows, but I really didn’t think it was my most precious possession, or that it would hurt you.”
“I know it wasn’t intentional,” Magnus admits, begrudging, turning to scratch his cat’s head.
“I like your cat,” Alexander says suddenly, reaching out a hand. To Magnus’ surprise, Chairman Meow bumps it with his head. Clearly the Chairman likes Alexander. “He kept trying to escape, I think he wanted to get back to you, but I was worried he’d get lost.”
Magnus hums, pushing himself up out of the chair despite the ache in his leg. “Well, thank you for not losing my cat.”
“Can I get my arrow back sometime?” Alexander asks, suddenly sounding shy.
“Of course, it is your prized possession,” Magnus responds, a hint of a tease in his voice. He picks up Chairman Meow and offers, “Why don’t you come for drinks?”
A small, soft smile crosses Alexander’s face. “Do I get to know your name first?”
“Magnus Bane,” he adjusts the Chairman so he can take Alexander’s hand. Alexander’s fingers are rough with callouses, but his hands are warm and his smile is bright.
“Alec Lightwood,” Alexander responds.
Magnus raises an eyebrow. “Your name is on the door.” He melts just a little bit at the blush that crawls up Alexander’s face.
“Ah, right. I’ll walk you out so no one tries to kill you.”
“My knight in black leather,” Magnus teases, finding that his day has vastly improved since actually speaking with Alexander.
Alexander walks him to the door and they exchange numbers with plans to get drinks before Magnus heads home, his cat tucked under his arm. He can’t help but think that perhaps the universe doesn’t hate him so much after all.