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When Alice Kirkland was summoned to the London Institute at three in the morning, she was livid. The fire message that they’d sent her had singed her sheets, her head was pounding from the remnants of magical exhaustion left over from the day before, and her muscles practically ached in protest. She’d gone anyway, though, because she knew ignoring and angering the shadowhunters of the London enclave wasn’t a wise decision. Despite the fact that Clave relations with the Downworld had improved immensely over the couple of years under the new Consul, Alice was old enough to remember a time when they’d been, what she considered, beyond repair: werewolves and vampires being killed like they were infectious vermin, fae being demonized and distrusted everywhere they went, Alice’s own people being hunted like animals for their warlock marks. Shadowhunters hunted demons, but back then they’d been the monsters in Downworld childrens’ closets.
It was because of this that Alice tended to avoid shadowhunters in general. She never interacted with them if she didn’t have to and carefully followed each law set by both the Clave and the Accords (or was meticulous in covering it up when she didn’t) so she didn’t find them on her doorstep. Yet, with the High Warlock of London position still open, the London Institute had called upon her to fill whatever request they had. They just couldn’t seem to have done it at a decent time.
Upon her arrival at the London Institute, near minutes after she’d received the fire message that had woken her up, Alice found herself being warmly welcomed by the shadowhunters of the London enclave and ushered into the Institute’s sacred halls. The difference between now and the last time she’d visited an Institute was staggering. Instead of angered, fiery stares following her every move or the not-so-subtle reach for their weapon of choice, Alice found herself on the other end of polite smiles, if they acknowledged her presence at all. She didn’t know how to feel about that, so instead she focused on the chatty woman that had met her in, what was essentially the Downworlder entrance to the Institute, the Sanctuary. The woman was pleasant enough, but the rapid fire words she spoke had a hint of an Italian accent and Alice was too tired to decipher them.
“Sorry,” Alice finally said. Though she felt like she was interrupting the poor woman, Alice’s headache had begun to pound deeper with each word she spoke, “but what exactly am I here for?”
She blinked, obviously confused by Alice’s question. “You mean they didn’t tell you?”
By the time Alice opened her mouth to answer, the two of them were standing outside of the infirmary. Alice felt her stomach drop and a cold dread settled into her bones. Shadowhunters didn’t like asking for help, though they did so quite often, but when it came to injuries, it was a rare occurrence. Shadowhunters had iratze runes to heal most of their wounds and, if an iratze didn’t work, they called upon the Silent Brothers, a specific sect of shadowhunters who’d dedicated themselves to the pursuit of wisdom. Rarely did they call upon warlocks for anything they could do themselves, and if they’d called Alice it was certainly one of those times. But healing magic wasn’t one she’d studied in depth. Instead, she’d dedicated her studies to demonology, to potions, to curse breaking. There were other, more talented warlocks far more skilled in healing magic they could’ve, and probably should’ve, called upon.
“One of the women on patrol came back with a demon bite we can’t identify,” she said, her animation draining in the seriousness of the situation. The shadowhunter pushed open the door to the infirmary and led Alice inside. It was oddly quiet and empty for a building housing angelic warriors. The beds lining either side of the hall were all precisely made and framed with privacy curtains and the apothecary, though sectioned off from the wing itself, was fully stocked with medications and bandages of all sorts. The hall could easily host fifty patients as it was, yet the only one it had was at the very far end. There were several men and women surrounding the bed - multiple soldiers dressed in their black patrol leathers and two others in their pajamas - but Alice couldn’t see the injured shadowhunter herself. “Brother Malichi took a sample of the venom back to the Silent City, but it's spreading too quickly for us to wait for an antidote.”
Alice opened her mouth to protest, to tell them that they needed a warlock who actually knew healing magic, but the words were caught in her throat. If what the woman was saying was true, it didn’t sound like they had time to call anyone else. Alice was all they had.
The crowd of shadowhunters parted as they approached, and Alice was finally able to get a glimpse at her patient. The woman was laying face down, with her face toward another woman that was sitting by her side and gripping her hand tightly. That was the first, and only, thing she noticed before her eyes were pulled to the real issue. The shadowhunter’s back, which had been stripped of any clothing, was exposed to the open air, and amongst the refined muscles and inky black runes Alice could see the wound. It was a small thing, hardly larger than the tip of her pinky, but it was dark and oozing and surrounded by angry black veins that had reached the bottom of her ribcage.
Alice didn’t even know where to start. So, instead, she turned to the half dozen shadowhunters that had gathered around the bed and said, “What? Am I putting on a show?”
Most of the shadowhunters seemed to have the decency to look ashamed and the group slowly dispersed. All of them except the woman by her patient’s side. Alice looked at her, trying to will her to leave, but the woman glared back at her and tightened her grip on her patient’s hand.
“She’s my sister and my parabatai ,” the woman said, lilac eyes burning. “I am not leaving her.”
“Very well.” Alice had no intention of doing so before she spoke, but now that she knew her connection, she certainly wasn’t going to even try. Instead, Alice decided to focus on the shadowhunter who was actually dying. The one who’s life was, quite literally, in her hands. Carefully, as if afraid doing too much would mean instant death for the woman on the bed, Alice let her magic sink into her fevered skin. Underneath her, the woman groaned and tensed, but otherwise seemed to allow the magic to flow easily through her veins. Had the situation not been more dire, Alice probably would’ve thought more about the implications of that.
At her side, the woman ran her fingers through her sister’s hair in a soothing gesture and shushed her. “It’s alright, Amy, I’ve got you.”
Alice tried not to feel awkward for witnessing the tender moment between the sisters and turned her attention towards the magic that was quickly returning to her. Oddly enough, the results of the diagnostic spell sparked hope in Alice’s chest. Not because the shadowhunter - Amy, according to her sister - wasn’t as close to death as she looked or because the solution was an easy fix, but because Alice recognized the poison from her demonology studies. She recognized it and knew the antidote by heart.
With the flick of her wrist, she summoned a list of ingredients and held it out to the Italian shadowhunter who’d escorted her, who still, thankfully, stood behind her. “Get me everything on this list as soon as possible.”
The woman didn’t hesitate. She took the paper and rushed off to the apothecary, leaving Alice alone with Amy and her sister.
“You know what’s wrong with her?” she asked. She didn’t pull her eyes away from her sister, but Alice could hear a delicate hope seeping into her voice.
“Yes,” Alice told her. She was hesitant to make promises because the salve she needed to make required rare ingredients and had to be applied before the demon’s venom reached Amy’s heart. Recovery was possible though. Maybe the shadowhunters had called the right warlock after all. “Your sister was stung by a striker demon. They’re exceedingly rare, but they’re vicious and territorial. I imagine you and your sister must’ve accidentally done something to provoke it.”
“We got some reports of demonic activity in Victoria Park,” the woman explained. The exhaustion was beginning to creep into her voice and Alice could tell that the adrenaline of their patrol was giving way to fatigue. Just then, the other shadowhunter came out of the apothecary with her arms piled high with glass jars and bulky packages. “We never even saw it coming.”
The other shadowhunter dumped the ingredients onto the empty bed next to them and Alice moved to look them over. They had plenty of everything, it seemed, and it was becoming obvious that Amy was an extremely lucky woman.
Alice worked quickly, taking bits and pieces from each of the jars and packages and mixing them together in a bowl she had summoned from her own flat.
“Did you kill it?” the Italian shadowhunter asked. Alice might’ve thought the question was inappropriate to ask, but she supposed that a rogue, territorial demon roaming the streets of London would be something that the London enclave would be worried about.
“No. It disappeared and I brought Amy straight here.”
“There’s no need to worry,” Alice cut in. She’d added the fae water to the bowl and now the mixture was turning into a foul smelling sludge. Just like it was supposed to be. “Stinger demons are similar to bees. One and done.”
As soon as the sludge began to take the consistency of a thick paste, Alice scooped a fair amount into her hand and applied it to the small wound in Amy’s back. The effect was instant. Ooze from the wound itself soaked the layer of paste Alice applied, the painful tension in Amy’s shoulders disappeared, and the blackened veins slowly, but surely began to recede. The fact that she was responding at all told Alice that Amy would be alright.
“You’re sure?” her sister, Madeline she’d learned, asked when Alice told her just that.
For the first time the entire night, Alice allowed herself to smile. “Yes, Madeline. As long as she applies the salve at least once a day for the next week or so, she should be just fine.”
Madeline gave a watery laugh at that. “Forcing Amelia to do anything is a feat within itself, but I’ll try.” After a slight pause, she added, more seriously than before, “Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you, but thank you for saving my sister.”
“Of course.”
-
Alice returned to the London Institute a week later. Worry had eaten at her enough to finally build up the courage to check on her patient, so she’d made her way to the London Institute to do just that. She half expected to be turned away, discarded like so many warlocks had been in the past, but to her surprise they welcomed her in, just as they had before. Her escort - Feliciana Vargas - had gladly led her through the building again, chatting wildly about something Alice couldn’t quite make out.
“Amelia and Madeline are in the training room!” Feliciana told her with a large smile on her face. “She’s gotten a lot better, I promise!”
Alice had never been as far into any Institute’s halls as she was now, and she felt much like someone walking into a lion’s den. Before she could even think to protest, though, Feliciana took her by the wrist and dragged her into the room. It was large enough to accommodate the multiple pairs of sparring shadowhunters, with a high ceiling supported by wooden rafters and wide, open space. On the far wall, Alice could see a weapons rack holding an array of weapons which, though dulled for practice, shone menacingly in the light streaming in through the windows.
“Madeline, Amelia! You two have a visitor!” Feliciana announced, drawing attention to the both of them. All of the sparring shadowhunters stopped to stare, but it was the two at the corner of the room that Alice was actually interested in. Madeline’s familiar face was smiling at her and waving them over, but the woman with her just looked confused. It was then, Alice realized she’d never gotten a good look at Amelia’s face when she’d visited the week before. She’d been too busy worrying about saving the woman’s life she’d never thought to actually see what the woman looked like. Now, though, Alice had plenty of time.
And look she did.
Unlike her sister, Amelia had been training shirtless , showing off the taunt, well-trained muscles of her body and the black runes that marked her skin. Alice had seen people shirtless - she’d seen Amelia shirtless - but the sight still made Alice’s mouth go completely dry. It didn’t help either that she was drenched in sweat, which ran down the lines of her body in tantalizing rivets and made her skin glisten. It was a little embarrassing how quickly the urge to lick nearly overwhelmed Alice. She wanted to know how the woman tasted, wanted to see how Amelia reacted when she traced her runes with her tongue.
“Alice?”
Somehow, Feliciana and Alice had made their way over to the two women without Alice noticing. Apparently Madeline had been talking to her while she definitely hadn’t been ogling Amelia. Oops.
A little reluctantly, Alice tore her gaze away from Amelia - why were her eyes so blue ? - and looked at Madeline, who, now that her brain wasn’t as distracted, looked remarkably like her sister.
“Sorry?”
Amelia snorted a laugh, but Madeline continued. “I asked you how you’d been?”
“Fine!” Determined not to be stuck to one work answers for the rest of her life, Alice stumbled through a further explanation. “I was in the neighborhood and wanted to check on Amelia.”
At the sound of her name, the other woman brightened and smiled. It was a reaction that sent butterflies fluttering in Alice’s chest and she couldn’t help but notice how brilliant her smile was. Fuck, she was staring again.
“Cool!” Amelia said. Her voice bounced around the room, but the other shadowhunters ignored it and continued their sparring. “We can do it in my room!”
The announcement sent Alice’s brain into a panic. Her room? Oh no, no, no, she absolutely could not be alone with Amelia for any length of time. She’d already fantasized about tracing the woman’s runes with her tongue and who knows what being alone with her would do to Alice’s self control.
When Alice opened her mouth to protest, though, she noticed they were already out in the hall, away from the rest of the shadowhunters, and headed towards Amelia’s room.
Fuck , Alice thought, certainly not for the first time that day. Because of course she’d find a shadowhunter attractive and of course she’d be completely obvious about it. Was she blushing? Fuck, she was, wasn’t she?
“Don’t worry,” Amelia said when Alice paused at the door to her room. It didn’t look very personalized, but then again Alice’s attention was on something very different right now. Amelia’s smile was sharper now, more teasing. “I don’t bite…unless you ask.”
Alice honestly didn’t know how she was going to survive with Amelia Jones in her life, but in that moment, not even the legions of hell could make Alice give her up.