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Magnus has never liked the common imaginary of hell. The pits of fire, the strictly organized and almost bureaucratic environment, people divided by their actions in life and creatures dedicated exclusively to punish specific sins. It seems all too mundane.
Besides, being the son of a Prince of Hell, he knows exactly what a hell looks like. He has been to one – his father's to be precise – and the only word to describe it is wasteland. Hells in their purest form are endless deserts under black, hopeless skies. Very aesthetic, but unsuitable for anything, even an afterlife of torment. And purposely so. Demons don't want to torture people in their own homes. They want to cross over into reality and wreck havoc there. They want to make war and take over.
The realms they live in – or in his father's case, the realm he's Prince of – are mere spaces where they can grow more powerful or regenerate. They need to have a very specific plan to bring you there. But kidnapping is not so common among demons. Most of them lack the intellect for it and the others lack the commitment. Stealing someone away, keeping them alive, asking for a ransom, it's too much work for very little reward. Destroying everything in one brief act of insane violence, that's more their style.
But in these last few years living in close proximity to the Shadowhunters, Magnus is starting to think that maybe there's a grain of truth about this idea of the circles of hell. They're just not a place you go after you die if you've been bad. They are here on Earth, managed by the Nephilim. That would explain why Magnus has been having the impression of being tortured for no reason at all.
When this whole thing with Alec started, Magnus was already old enough to know what he was getting into. He had a history of helping Shadowhunters – alright, he had a history of helping Lightwoods – and he knew they were a lot of trouble, not always worth it. But Alec was special, he fell in love and the moment he realized he wanted to spend the next sixty or seventy years with this young man ready to change the world for the better, he also decided that he was going to help him.
They have been through two wars since then, and now they are fighting a third, less bloody but equally vicious, the one against the Shadowhunters as a society. After losing more than half of the Nephilim – an entire people destroyed almost to the point of no return – one would have thought the Clave would reconsider their way of governing themselves and their approach to the rest of the world in general. But no, as any aging ruling class, they are scared of change and they held to their beliefs even more, closing up onto themselves and trying to reject anything that was something other than what they already knew.
It's been exhausting.
For every step they have managed to take forward, they have been pushed three steps back. It's a game of tug-of-war that never stops and that is slowly but inexorably driving them mad. Magnus has no doubt that the Clave is playing the long game.
They are old people – even though speaking of Shadowhunters, old is a relative term. Nephilim die young, so most of the Council is composed of men and women in their forties, whose close-minded attitude is frankly unacceptable – who spend all their time sitting at a table. They're past patrolling, hunting, going to war. They are politicians, and Magnus can't shake the feeling that they are simply waiting either for Alec to disappear or for their time to officially retire, whichever comes first. They don't want to embrace a new way of living because that would mean work, and they don't want to do it. They don't want their little world to get shaken.
As a consequence, this causes a lot of work and frustration for Magnus, and for all the other Downworlder representatives in the Council who are trying – although not all the time – to actually make this new and improved Clave work. Fact is, it's really hard for everybody to trust anybody else. Vampires have bad blood with the Werewolves. Werewolves have bad blood with the Nephilim. Nephilim have bad blood with everybody. And warlocks?
There are so few of them and they have always been so set apart from the rest of the Shadow World that they don't see the purpose of getting together now, let alone initiating a dialogue with the Shadowhunters who have always hunted them down like monsters. Magnus kinda sees their point, but he also knows that the time of being an elusive people is over and they should make an attempt at being part of this change they're trying to make. They live forever, they could really give the others some perspective.
For now, the doors of the Spiral Labyrinth remain closed, but Magnus managed to involve Catarina e Malcolm, who will both teach at the Academy in Idris. That was a great victory for him. It's not enough, though. He needs to do more, to convince more people, to come up with other ways to avoid unnecessary conflicts because the situation right now is not good at all.
The Nephilim are only thinking about themselves and they are still as racists as they were before the war, despite the objective help they received from werewolves, vampires and warlocks. Magnus doesn't know how they can rebuild on new foundations if they are still at a point where they have to teach them that Downworlders are not beasts or monsters. And it's hard for him to stay calm and objective when his words get ignored during Council meetings and his mother-in-law bothers to take time out of her busy schedule to come all the way to the New York Institute to tell him to his face that he's not suitable to be around her son or her nephew.
That takes its toll even on someone like him, who lived through way worse things than Maryse Lightwood.
And if that wasn't enough, now this.
Magnus looks at the pieces of papers on his desk, all three reporting the same thing in different words. He has eyes and ears throughout the globe. They are friends, of course, and also people who do that for a living, people who owe him favors, and of course those who think that making him favors will get them into Magnus's good graces.
He always tries to act legally as not to upset the Council and make it even less favorable towards him, but there are things legality can't provide. Information that are only available to the very lowest of the scum or in the highest places of magical power, and that has to be treated with intelligence because they have the potential to start another war right now.
According to what they're telling him, his father woke up again from whatever slumber he put himself into after the last time he saw him – which sadly is not a long time ago – and he's probing around, tasting the waters. Instead of waiting patiently for someone to need him, he's actively looking for someone to summon him, possibly someone that wouldn't do it right and would set him free to roam this plane of existence. And that's very obviously not a good sign. It means he's restless and plotting something, a combination that cannot result in anything positive for them.
The right thing to do would be call an emergency council meeting and explain his fears about his father, and maybe proving his loyalty to the Nephilim in doing so. But the truth is Magnus is not sure the action would be taken as he expects.
In fact, he has no reason to believe so.
What's more likely to happen is that, one way or another, he would be accused of being involved with his father's plans. And that's somehow the best case scenario. The worst case scenario is that the Council deems the threat too dangerous and sanctions a war against him, which they will lose as there's only a handful of them left at this point, and one of them is his husband. He doesn't want to be left a widower.
Magnus has left those messages double-locked in a drawer of his desk for a week, wondering what to do but he knew it all along. He was only postponing the inevitable. As he draws all the curtains of his apartment in Brooklyn, he thinks of the irony of going home for dinner at the Institute after what he's about to do. He fetches bottles and boxes from the shelves all around him with a simple gesture of his hands as he watches the space between the couch and the window, visualizing what he wants to do.
Summoning a demon is a complicated matter and it should be left to the professional, which he is. He can call his father into this plane of existence and keep him here for as long as he'll need to make him talk. It's not the safest plan, but it's the only one guaranteed to give him a viable result. If Asmodeus is really plotting something, he needs to know what it is and he needs to stop it before it's even set into motion.
He draws a circle on the floor to delimit a place for Asmodeus to become physical – like a measurement within which he will have to fit his body, so he won't be able to appear out of scale – and then another around it to contain him. Within the two set of circles he writes demonic runes that his father would have to read to cross and that, at the same time, would banish him back into the dimension he's coming from. Then he puts protection spells upon himself, the room and the building, just to be sure.
It's going to be his father and him, and no one else.
At his point he would normally grab a rooster – or in lean times a chicken – and spill its blood over the pentagram inside the inner circle as a sacrifice, but his father hates birds, so a guinea pig will have to do. It should actually be a cat, but Magnus refuses to kill cats on principle. Chairman Meow would not approve, and that's an enemy he doesn't want to have.
He puts the little creature to sleep before he proceeds with the cut. This is a part he doesn't like at all because it's cruel and inelegant, primeval like demons are.
It's mere moments before the air turns electric and his magic starts responding to something similar to itself. No, better, to what it generated it. That is one of the many reasons why dealing with his father is upsetting for him. Not only Asmodeus is extremely unpleasant, and of course any interaction with him is triggering for Magnus, but what's worse is that his own magic – on which he usually has total control – starts wavering, drawn to his place of origin, working like a magnet on it. Luckily, not enough for Magnus to lose it.
He's still in perfect control, even when his father starts to take shape. The magic is just slightly uncomfortable.
Asmodeus waits for the smoke and indoor lightening that his apparition bring with itself to dissolve before doing anything. He's wearing a total white suit with a matching hat and he's holding a walking cane in his right hand. It looks like he still thinks it's the 40s, or maybe it is the 40s in the place he's coming from. The first thing he notices is the guinea pig inside the circle. He taps it slightly with the cane.
“For me?” He asks. “I appreciate the sentiment, son, but it was unnecessary. You know you could have just called me or, as someone does, wish for me to be here. In many cases it's enough. I really like people wishing me to be in a place.”
“Blood will keep you there,” Magnus says, sitting on his desk. “It's binding.”
“I see you did your homework, I'm pleased,” Asmodeus says. He throws a look around, taking in the room and, possibly, any detail that can come in handy. But Magnus is good at keeping his secrets hidden, and even more so at keeping them hidden from his father. “Nice little place you have here. But I heard you were living at the Institute.”
“I am, but you're not presentable in such company.”
“You're ashamed of me, now, Magnus?”
“No, you are not my fault,” Magnus smirks. “I despise you, there's a difference.”
“And yet you called me,” Asmodeus doesn't seem offended by that. He might get strengthened from praise and worshiping, but hate is still fuel to demons, and one of the strongest ones. “Did you finally get tired of playing around with mortals and accepted your true nature?”
“I'm happy to disappoint you father,” Magnus says. “You are here only because I want to know what you have in mind.”
“My mind is infinite, you will have to be more specific.”
“I know you're plotting something,” Magnus goes on. “The demonic energy is going crazy, things are happening here and there. You're probing our reality, why?”
“Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?” Asmodeus smirks the same way Magnus does. The warlock never understood if his father chose that body to be similar to him or if that's Asmodeus real human form and he simply looks like his father. “Probing realities?”
“What you're supposed to do is reign in hell,” Magnus retorts. “That is your place.”
“And it's well kept, I assure you, ready to welcome you whenever this fantasy of yours will be over and you will finally take your place next to me.”
Magnus rolls his eyes. “This will never happen, get over it.”
Asmodeus gives him an almost benevolent look, something that looks darker and perverted on him. It seems to say that he knows that's not the truth. It makes Magnus shiver. “I am very patient,” he says.
“Whatever you're doing, it needs to stop,” Magnus goes on, ignoring him.
“Let's say I am, in fact, doing something,” His father says, “For argument's sake, of course. Wouldn't it be the perfect moment? The Shadowhunters are at their lowest place, threatening to get even lower, it would be foolish of me, or anybody else, to pass the chance of doing something without being stopped. Actually, I would be worried about far more than just me.”
“I'm starting with you, it's work enough,” Magnus snarls. “Talk.”
“Fine,” Asmodeus sighs, seemingly giving in. “I'm certainly doing more than you think I'm doing, and way better than you think I can. But that is all I will say. I'm very fond of you, son, but you're not powerful enough to make me talk.”
“Is it against the Nephilim?” Magnus asks. “This thing you're doing, will it damage them?”
“Eventually, I suppose. They're always in the middle, sooner o later one is always bound to do something that will inconvenience them,” Asmodeus shrugs. “Besides, they are our enemies, even if you seem to forget it.”
“Not mine,” Magnus hisses. “I'm working hard to keep the peace between the Downworlders and the Nephilim.”
Asmodeus raises his eyes to heaven. The grammatical irony is not lost on either of them. “I was hoping you had gotten over this phase of yours,” he sighs. “I guess adolescence lasts longer on your kind.”
“I need more time,” Magnus says suddenly. Not the world, not mundanes, not the Shadowhunters. Me, your son. Selfishness always gets his father's attention, he knows that.
It works this time too. “For what?” Asmodeus asks, an eyebrow raised to his hairline.
“I've just married, alright? And between that ceremony and now, I've been through war, I've witness a literal genocide, and now I'm fighting to protect a people that for the most part consider me a demonic creature—“
“Well...”
“I'm half-human!” Magnus bursts out. “Half is a lot, okay? Among mundanes half is enough to identify yourself with two different cultures, so there's that. I'm frustrated and I'm discouraged and I'm exhausted. I need a break and I need my honeymoon which I haven't had yet. What I don't need is you wreaking the world in this very moment just because you're getting bored.”
Asmodeus grins again and his thin lips open into a vicious smile. “Are you asking for a favor, son?”
“No,” Magnus answers right away, because he knows how dangerous owing a demon is. You want to make the terms of your agreement with a demonic creature very clear, so they won't take advantage of the loopholes. You never leave them the freedom to decide what to get from you in return. “I want to make a deal.”
Asmodeus crosses his hands on his walking cane. “Oh, I love deals.”
“Give me 10 years,” Magnus says, and as the words leave his mouth he feels the weight of them on his shoulders. “Postpone whatever you were about to do and let me enjoy this time.”
“Hm. And what's in it for me? After this time, do I get you?”
Magnus takes a deep breath, this is the hardest part. “In ten years time I might be more inclined to listen to you,” he says. “Maybe even helping you from time to time.”
Asmodeus stares at him for the longest time, seriously now, and his glare is heavy to hold, but Magnus resists. Then his mouth breaks in another of those creepy smiles which so easily let you see the monster behind the mask. “We have a visitor,” he says.
His words come as surprise, but not as the knocks on the door. “Magnus, are you in there?”
“Don't you want to answer your husband?”
Magnus cusses underneath his breath. “Alexander?” He calls back.
“Yeah, you weren't at the Institute and you weren't answering the phone, so I thought you might be here,” Alec says. “Do you mind opening the door? I left the keys home.”
Thank God he did. They have considered living here after Alec was appointed head of the New York Institute, but then it would have been impractical and a bit hilarious for Alec to become a commuter. “I'm coming, give me a second!”
“Oh, I would love to meet my son-in-law,” Asmodeus chirps, malignantly.
“The hell you are meeting him,” Magnus growls, turning to him. “Ten years. And then I might consider what you have to offer.”
“Normally, this wouldn't be enough,” Asmodeus says. “But you are my favorite son.”
“I'm the only one you have.”
“For now,” Asmodeus nods. “Fine, we have a deal. I'll give you ten years with your Nephilim husband and then we will talk.”
“Good. Go, now!” Magnus makes some shushing gestures at him.
Asmodeus doesn't move. “You will have to release me, son. As you said, I'm bound by blood.”
“Magnus?” Alec calls him again. “Is everything alright?”
“Shit, right—Coming!” Magnus screams to his husband. Then he pronounces a few words, banning his father from this plan of existence. Asmodeus tries to put some last words in before going, but the spell cuts him short. Magnus cleans the room with a snap of his fingers.
As he opens the door he schools his features into the charming smile he always has for Alec. “Hi, love.”
Alec looks at him confused, but not suspiciously, which makes Magnus feel even worse. “Hi handsome,” he says, kissing him on his lips. “Why are you hiding in here?”
“Not hiding, unfortunately. That would make me look like a tormented hero on the run, waiting for his moment to do what he has to do,” Magnus sighs, theatrical. “But, alas, no, I came here to retrieve some books on Shadowhunters not written by Shadowhunters that I feel could be a nice addition to the Institute's library or even the Academy. Can you imagine that? Catarina teaching history as it is supposed to be taught instead of lying. Groundbreaking!”
Alec chuckles. “Alright, I'll give you a hand with those,” he offers. And luckily this apartment is nothing but books everywhere, so Magnus can find a reasonable amount of them to make his story true. “Speaking of books, we will need some copies of the Grey Book if we want the remaining institutes to teach kids runes. Some got lost during the war. Jia already asked the Silent Brothers for more, but it will take time, like everything else.”
“Can we retrieve some from the closed institutes?”
“Yes, that was my idea,” Alec nods as Magnus piles up books for him to hold. “I will have to send someone to pick them up.”
“It seems like a nice, easy job for someone with a traveling apartment,” Magnus suggests.
“What?” Alec hardly manages to hide his outrage.
“I mean, if he's being pardoned, maybe it's about time Sebastian is being given a task, right?”
Alec makes a face. “I'll think about it.”
“Done, these are all the books I have,” Magnus looks around, but instead of checking for more books to bring along, he instinctively makes sure he didn't leave proof of what he just did tonight. He tries to push the thought in the back of his mind as he did when he helped Sebastian out so many months ago. Another thing Alec couldn't know.
This is the second lie he tells Alec.
Both were for a good cause, but what does this say about them? About him?
The result of the first lie has been a good one, and he hopes the result of the second will be as well, but are his good intentions really good if they always come from lies? He should try to break the circle, instead of falling easily in his usual path. Isn't this what good people do?
“Magnus, are you coming?”
He has no time to dwell on it now. Someone had to take care of those matters, no matter how, and he did.
If that was a bad call, they will see it in the time they finally have.
Thanks to him.