Chapter Text
‘Excuse me! Sorry! Coming through! My bad, oh dear pardon me. Sorry!”
It had been a quiet night at the New York Institute, demon activity had been low for a while now and the halls were mostly empty. Sunrise was soon approaching and the Shadowhunters on the night shift were clearing up and dragging themselves off to homes and bedrooms. Shadow hunting was mostly a night job, as demon activity diminished during the day, and so the the day shift was waking incredibly slowly.
So, amongst the quiet, sleepy institute that was both going to sleep and waking up, the sudden blur of motion was quite unexpected.
Stumbling through the halls at a half jog was a girl, black hair sticking up at all angles and arms full of scrolls and jars, filled with substances that made the surrounding Shadowhunters look the other way. She was a mess, tripping and falling over her own feet, yelling about being late.
After the war, the Institute and the Clave had really changed for the better. Downworlders were employed by the Clave now, working as partners with the Shadowhunters. Alec and Magnus Lightwood-Bane were the Inquisitor and High Warlock of Idris, effectively the most powerful partnership the Shadow world had ever seen. It was a time for peace, a time for learning.
And this is exactly what the young warlock apprentice was late for.
‘By the angel I am so sorry!” She tripped again, almost running into one of the walls. Her magic sparked, and caught her supplies as they tumbled towards the ground.
Blue, dancing lights caught on the paper. They lifted them carefully, navy embers that twisted with unnatural strength. With a burst of light, her magic gathered the jars and things into a steadier grip in her arms. And then she was off again.
The New York Institute was run by Isabelle Lovelace. Her husband Simon, had taken a Shadowhunter name for her, despite being a vampire. He wanted her to remain a Shadowhunter, even in name after they married. Clary thought it was incredibly sweet and romantic, Jace thought it was hilarious. And Isabelle? She thought it was beautiful name.
The co Shadowhunter and Downworlder classes had started a few years ago. Teaching the new generation together, raising them to believe in equality. They were unusual classes, a mixture of different fighting styles, history, biology, magic, strength control and the arts. Classes were taught to accommodate all, warlock and Shadowhunters, seelies and werewolves. There was a lack of vampires, due to the transformation process. Most vampires were adults, and laws of the Shadow world were taught within clans.
It was for a very special lesson, early in the morning, that the girl was late for. It was for a presentation on magic, and watching over this class was the High Warlock of Amsterdam. It was supposed to be an incredible chance for the warlocks to show off their skills, and the shadowhunters to show how well they could master the Alliance Rune.
‘Just my luck, getting to go first. As if they didn’t know I’d run late’ she thought bitterly as she rounded the last corner towards the training room.
This particular room was for students only, with high ceilings meshed with bars and ropes and walls that were covered in high cabinets stocked with medical and magical supplies. An array of weapons decorated the walls, and glinted under the candlelit chandelier. The floor was wide and smooth, allowing for mock fights and warlock practices, perfect for summoning circles and searching spells.
The doors flew open with a burst of magic, and the girl bursts in, out of breath and dishevelled. Several pairs of eyes turn and glance at her, eyebrows raise and one student puts his head in his hands, in despair for her lack of common sense. Giggles come from his sister, who is quickly hushed and then gives an encouraging wink.
“I’m so sorry I’m late, but I’m here now and ready to start.” She stands up straighter and dumps her supplies on a nearby table. Rolling up her sleeves, she puts a confident smirk on her face and addresses the group.
“I am delighted by this opportunity to impress you all, our teachers are brilliant, and I hope to make them all proud.” She juggles her supplies, sparks dancing from her finger tips.
“It is truly an honour, and I hope my presentation makes up for me being late”.
She pulls back her hair into a bun, then spreads her arms out. Magic spreads throughout the room, and she snaps her fingers. The magic responds, rippling and sizzling, like a small storm.
“My name is Celeste Lovelace, shall I begin?”