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Soulmates, Magnus thought, were a strange thing.
Most mundanes had them, though not all. Back when Shadowhunters had still existed, they’d all had one. Soulmates were less common among Downworlders — vampires and werewolves would retain their marks from when they were mundanes if they’d already met their soulmate or their soulmate was another Downworlder; nearly exactly half of all Seelies had them; among those who were born werewolves, rather than being Turned, about three-quarters had soulmates; only about a third of all warlocks had them. Among warlocks, those with more powerful demonic parents tended not to have marks, while the children of weaker demons had a better chance — which meant that Magnus almost certainly didn’t have one. (It was fine. He’d had four centuries to get used to it, and anyway, it was probably better that he’d never have a soulmate — at least this way, he wouldn’t have to lose them, because they’d almost certainly be mortal. He knew how much it hurt to lose a mundane or werewolf love; how much worse would it be if it was his soulmate? Better that he didn’t have one at all.)
(Who was he kidding — Magnus had always longed for a soulmate, and it ached to know that he’d never have one.)
Marks weren’t consistent. For some pairs, writing on one person’s skin would appear on the other’s; there might be markes where they first touched, or last touched; sometimes the other’s name, or the first words they’d say to each other, or the last, or the most important, were written on wrists or anywhere else on their body; for some, they’d be unable to see colour until they saw each other; occasionally there’d be a counter on their wrists, keeping track of how long it would be until they met their soulmate. Sometimes, it was stranger things, like nails that matched the colour of their soulmate’s hair, or tasting what the other one was eating; sometimes they’d just know. For Downworlders, the mark would often involve their abilities. Some types of soulmark were more common than others, but it wasn’t uncommon to have a nearly unique mark. Sometimes their soulmarks would match, sometimes not; some had multiple marks, some had only one. Some might have multiple soulmates.
People said that the number of marks correlated directly to the strength of the soul bond, and though it was admittedly difficult to quantify the strength of a bond, Magnus had noticed over the years that those with multiple marks would often stay together longer. Then again, people also said that soulmarks were supposed to be romantic and between two people, while some of the strongest bonds Magnus had ever known were neither.
For some people, the mark didn’t show up until they met their soulmate or even later, which meant that it was always hard to know if you didn’t have a soulmate, or if you simply hadn’t met them yet. Magnus had once allowed himself to imagine that he was one of those people, with a soulmate waiting for him out there — but then he’d met Camille, with her cold beauty and lack of a soulmark, and she’d divested him of such naïve notions. Magnus would always be alone.
He wasn’t jealous, or at least he tried not to be. Though Ragnor and Raphael were platonic soulmates, they’d never let that lessen their friendship for Cat and Magnus; Cat’s soulmates, Lily and Eliot, were vampires from Raphael’s Clan and had soon become part of their little group of immortals. Magnus was glad they’d found each other, if only because he’d never wish his own loneliness on anybody.
It wasn’t even a longing for romantic love. Not really. He knew that no matter the type of bond, a soulmate brought intimacy — somebody around whom he could let down all his walls, be his truest self without needing to wonder if he’d be judged for it. Cat and Ragnor and Raphael were his best friends, and he loved them as much as they loved him, but it wasn’t soulmate love.
Raphael had said, a few days after becoming a vampire and before meeting Ragnor, that since he was a vampire, he no longer had a soul and wouldn’t have a soulmate. Magnus had hurried to reassure him, though he’d known that it was fifty-fifty whether Raphael still had a soulmate; only a few days later, Ragnor had come to see them, and identical marks had bloomed across their hands the moment they’d met. Raphael had regained his faith that he had a soul. Magnus, however, sometimes doubted if he did.
Once, Ragnor had tried to convince him that he might have a soulmate. Magnus had shut him down with a snapped “My father is a Prince of Hell, cabbage,” and Ragnor had never brought up Magnus’s impossible soulmate again. Magnus, on his part, did his best never to think about it, though his subconscious had other plans.
He’d dream of it, sometimes, of gentle eyes and loving hands, of somebody who held him like he was precious, like he was whole and deserving of love on his own. But he could never forget that such love was not for people like him.
~
Ever since Alec was young, he’d been dreaming.
Specifically, he’d been having nightmares — not your typical monster-under-the-bed nightmares, but dreams of people with stark black tattoos killing people with wings or weird skin or horns or fangs; of brilliant light exploding from himself, incinerating people; of a man who shoved his face under the water, only for the light to come again and burn the man alive; of a woman, dead by her own hand; of a different woman, coldly beautiful, bloody lips and were those fangs, laughing cruelly. He’d wake up in a cold sweat, panting.
Sometimes, though, he’d dream of brilliant eyes with slit pupils, of laughter, of a tired, hurt man who was nevertheless kind and brave. He could always tell when it was the dreams of the man rather than his own dreams, because everything was different in the dreams of the man and the nightmares. In those dreams, something was brighter, more vibrant, like there were a myriad different ways that things could look. Everything was duller in real life, like something essential was missing.
He’d struggled to describe the difference to his parents. It had only been when they’d realised he couldn’t see colour that they understood: Alec’s dreams were in colour, bright and beautiful, though the rest of his life wasn’t.
It was his soulmark, Maryse had explained, a sign that there was somebody out there who he was meant to meet, love, be with. When she told him about it, it had seemed magical, perfect, a dream come true; it was only later that Alec would learn that though his parents were soulmates, Robert was cheating on Maryse — clearly, soulmates weren’t a promise of happiness.
But that was later, At the time, he’d smiled and asked when he’d get to meet them.
“You’ll meet her someday, I’m sure,” Maryse told him (and again, it would be years before he realised that there was no guarantee at all for his soulmate to be a her.)
When he told his mother about the dreams, she suggested that his soulmate had an overactive imagination — probably older than him, she guessed. Alec didn’t tell her that the eyes he saw, his soulmate’s eyes, had slit pupils like a cat’s. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t — he’d been too young to know how impossible it was — but for some reason, he’d wanted to keep it to himself. He’d also kept secret his certainty that his soulmate was a boy.
As Alec grew older, the dreams remained, the only colour in his life. He didn’t mind not having colour, because it meant that he had a soulmate somewhere, waiting for him; he wore black to avoid having accidentally clashing colours.
When Izzy was born, they all assumed she didn’t have a mark — until she made a Star Wars reference, that is, although none of them had seen the movie. Eventually they figured out that she and her soulmate had some sort of bond already, which allowed them to share ideas or knowledge; when Izzy became a forensic pathologist, Alec wondered what her soulmate thought of all the random anatomical knowledge they were getting. By the time Izzy’s soulmark had become clear, though, Maryse and Robert had begun to recede from their children’s lives. Alec was the one to tell her about soulmates, and he made sure she knew that her soulmate could be a boy or a girl or neither, romantic or platonic or anything in-between.
Then, Jace came when Alec was ten, a boy with a cocky attitude to hide the insecurities beneath. His father, a former friend of Robert’s, had died recently, but it didn’t take Alec long to begin to hate Jace’s father. Jace’s soulmark was far more certain than Izzy’s or Alec’s: a counter on his wrist, keeping track of how long it would be until Jace met his soulmate.
Soon after, Alec gained a second brother, Max. Like Izzy and Alec, he didn’t have a visible soulmark at first, but as soon as baby Max curled his chubby fingers around Alec’s, words wrote themselves across his wrist — and Alec’s wrist, and Izzy’s, and Jace’s. We’re Lightwoods.
~
Magnus let out a breath as his client finally left. The man, a mundane looking for a spell to make him rich, had been an absolute asshole and Magnus had no regrets about giving him a potion that would do absolutely nothing for him. He was already plenty rich; Magnus had no qualms about refusing to make him any more obscenely wealthy.
Still, the man had taken up several hours of Magnus’s time by complaining about his wife (ten years younger than him, and she definitely deserved better), the lack of women willing to date him in secret (Magnus had no idea why), and the difficulties of having lots of money (which were highly exaggerated — Magnus was rich enough to know). It was a relief to see him off, useless potion in hand.
Still, the loft was beginning to feel stuffy, so Magnus headed out to visit his favourite coffee shop. It was owned by a Seelie and a vampire, soulmates who’d been married for the last six centuries, and though they denied putting anything extra in their products, Magnus was certain that everything there tasted better than it would anywhere else. Perhaps they’d simply perfected the art of making coffee thanks to the time they’d had to practice. He ordered his usual latte, along with a scone, and was feeling much calmer by the time he’d finished.
As he stood up, however, the bell over the door rang, and a man came in — tall, dark hair, well-built, but Magnus had barely enough time to note how attractive he was when Magnus’s magic surged forward. It reached for the man, clinging to him, twining itself around him, and before Magnus could make any effort to hold it back, the magic was so deeply anchored that he doubted he’d ever be able to free it.
Not that he’d ever want to, because his magic whispered that this was his soulmate.
It was impossible, of course, but it was also incontrovertible, with the way that Magnus’s magic was singing under his skin, the sheer joy of this is the one that ran through his veins. And the man, his soulmate, was looking at him too, eyes wide.
“You’re — are you—” The soulmate shook his head as though to clear it. “I’m Alec Lightwood. Short for Alexander, though nobody calls me that.”
“Well,” Magnus managed, “I’m not just anybody, am I, Alexander?”
Alec blushed, eyes still wide as he looked at Magnus. “I — yeah, you’re not. Uh — what’s your name? I can’t just keep on calling you soulmate.”
“Magnus,” Magnus said, “though I wouldn’t be averse to you calling me soulmate.” He laughed, giddy, heart impossibly warm, because against all the odds and all sense, he had a soulmate, and it was the adorable man standing opposite him in the café. “I — can I buy you a coffee? They make it the best in this place.”
Alec sat down at a table, Magnus opposite him, and ordered a latte. Something, however, appeared to be nagging at him, and eventually he asked the question that had obviously been on his mind: “I thought your eyes were a different colour.”
Magnus blinked, taken off-guard. “How did you know?” He was sure he hadn’t dropped his glamour; what had tipped Alec off?
“I’ve been dreaming about you,” Alec told him. “It’s my soulmark, I think. Sometimes it’s you, sometimes it’s nightmares that I think are yours — battles, people with tattoos, I think I saw vampires?”
“Ah. Yes.” Magnus hesitated slightly, finger tracing circles over the rim of his coffee cup. He was disturbed by the thought that his nightmares had all been inflicted on his soulmate, but Alec didn’t appear to mind. Magnus could only hope that Alec believed him when he explained what Alec had seen. “I suppose — well, you’re going to need some context, first. You don’t know anything about the Shadow World?”
Alec shook his head, and Magnus proceeded to explain that once, demons had been able to enter this realm. Invisible to mundanes, they’d preyed on them, and so the Angels had created a race of Nephilim to protect the mundanes. But the demons had brought with them demonic diseases, as well, which created vampires and werewolves; the children of demons and mundanes were warlocks. The fey were said to be the offspring of demons and angels. The Shadowhunters, jealous of Downworlder abilities and wary of their demonic origin, had hunted them; those were the people with tattoos. Eventually, a collaborative effort had shut demons out of the world entirely, and the Shadowhunters had been subsumed into mundane life. “Although,” Magnus added, almost as an afterthought, “Lightwood is a Shadowhunter name. It’s possible you have some Nephilim ancestry — we can check, I’ve got an old witchlight somewhere in my apartment.”
“Okay,” Alec said. “That’s, uh, a lot.” He didn’t seem disbelieving, though, or particularly inclined to run screaming for the hills, which was (Magnus hoped) a good sign. “And you’re — you were alive for all that, so you’re immortal. A warlock.”
“Yes.” Magnus watched him carefully, waiting for the other shoe to drop — would Magnus’s immortality be too much for Alec? They’d only known each other for half an hour; it wouldn’t exactly be surprising. Even if Magnus’s magic seemed distinctly unwilling to ever let Alec go— “Shit,” Magnus said abruptly. “I just realised — I’m sorry, I didn’t — it wasn’t on purpose—”
“It’s okay,” Alec said immediately, reaching a hand across the table to take hold of one of Magnus’s, stopping it from fluttering in the air. “Whatever it is, it’s okay.”
“I — wait until you hear it, Alexander,” Magnus replied, pulling his hands back. “I think that — when my magic saw you — it may have… made you immortal, too.” He waited, eyes fixed on his hands, unable to look up and see Alec’s face. Almost detached, he noted that his hands were a sparkling blue where Alec had held them. Another soulmark.
Alec was silent for a moment, before he reached forward and touched the back of Magnus’s hand, leaving behind a spot of purple. “I don’t — I have no idea how I feel about that,” he said quietly, “but I don’t blame you.”
“You don’t?” Magnus’s head snapped up in surprise, his fingers tightening almost involuntarily on Alec’s.
“It’s not your fault,” Alec repeated. “I’m — I’m going to need to think about that—”
“Of course, take as long as you need—”
“But I’d rather just talk to my soulmate right now.” Alec smiled at him, gentle and adorable, and Magnus couldn’t prevent his lips from curving up in response. “I’ve been waiting to meet you my whole life, you know. Well, I suppose ever since I realised what my dreams were about, but — you know.”
Magnus chuckled. “I didn’t — I never thought I’d have a soulmate. I’m a Downworlder, firstly, which reduces the chances of it happening, and my father… he’s a fallen angel. I assumed that my demonic blood would prevent me from having a soulmate.” He shrugged, slightly shy.
“Well, if your father’s a fallen angel, that should mean you have more angelic blood than the average Downworlder, not less,” Alec said immediately, leaving Magnus — yet again — to blink at him in stunned silence.
“That — makes sense, I suppose. I’ve always dreamed of having a soulmate, I just never thought it was possible.” Another thought occurred to Magnus. “I wonder — you dreamed of me, didn’t you? What if I’ve been dreaming of you, though I didn’t realise it?”
Alec hummed. “That’s a lot of soulmate marks. The dreams and shared nightmares, your magic, my colour — I couldn’t see colour except in my dreams until I met you — and the way our hands change colour when we touch.”
“I’ve waited centuries to meet my soulmate, the universe owes me to make you a good one,” Magnus said immediately, grinning, and Alec laughed. Magnus wondered to what lengths he’d go to make Alec laugh again.
“I have a question,” Alec said once they’d got their breath back. “Your warlock mark — it’s your eyes, right?” Alec waited for Magnus to nod before going on. “Could you — I mean, would you mind if you — let me see?”
“Of course.” Magnus dropped his glamour, waiting for Alec to shy away, but once again his soulmate — his soulmate, he still wasn’t used to that, he had a soulmate — surprised him.
“They’re beautiful, Magnus,” Alec said. “You’re beautiful.”