Chapter Text
Magnus scowled as a fire message flew through the air, hovering beside him before he snagged it and brought it down. Barely skimming the letter, he caught sight of the name and shook his head, letting the rest of it burn into ash before returning his attention to Raphael in front of him.
"Apologies, Raphael," Magnus said, forcing himself to refocus.
Raphael raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "That's the sixth fire message you've received in the seven or so hours you've been at the club tonight. Are they all from the same person?"
Magnus shook his head. "They're all from the Institute, but they have arrived from at least two different people that I am aware of. The last three have been from the Head. Apparently, the latest in the line of Lightwoods has at last deigned to contact me."
Raphael scoffed. "Circle sympathizers," he barked. He rolled his shoulders impatiently. "What do they want?"
"They want to hire me," Magnus said, summoning the potion that Raphael was there to collect to his fingertips. "Of course, I will never again work with the Nephilim after the Second Uprising, as everyone here well knows."
A smirk curled Raphael's lips and he nodded, taking the potion from Magnus. "Everyone except that Lightwood, apparently." He frowned, remembering something. "Didn't you inform them that they would find no help from the downworld after you-"
"Put a Nephilim blade through Valentine's heart?" Magnus asked, his voice bland as he took a sip of his drink. "Yes. Looked right in Maryse and Robert Lightwood's eyes as I did it. Very satisfying, I must say."
"I can imagine," Raphael agreed. "And then when you negotiated the formal separation for all of us, they have no right to reach out for help."
Magnus nodded. "If it were any other Institute, I would at least entertain the idea. They are persistent, after all, and that does indicate a matter of some urgency." His eyes sharpened. "But I will never work for a Lightwood. No downworlder in New York will. Too many of us fell to their blades when they stood beside Valentine."
"Agreed," Raphael said, tightening his hand around the potion. "If they continue to harass you, perhaps it's time for a reminder?"
Magnus' grin was sharp and dangerous. "We shall have to see what happens my friend. I know that we would both enjoy that a very great deal."
The rest of the downworld was quiet, and after Raphael went home with the heat suppressant potion, Magnus stood up from his seat and surveyed the downworlders in the club. He took a deep breath and let his head hang. Whatever it was that the Institute supposedly wanted, it wouldn't-
The flicker of another fire message had him snarling, and Magnus grabbed it out of the air, focusing on the words.
High Warlock Bane,
Your services are required at the New York Institute. We will pay whatever you ask for the healings that you provide. Urgency is needed in order to prevent lives from being lost.
Alec Lightwood, Head of the New York Institute
Magnus narrowed his eyes as he read over the letter and summoned parchment and a pen to his hand. This Lightwood would learn the same lessons that his parents did. Following a genocidal maniac would have repercussions, especially after the shadowhunters of the New York Institute refused to do anything to assist in stopping him.
He penned a quick response and sent it off in a flicker of magic. Irritation had magic sparking over his skin and his people were keeping a wide berth from him. Good. He was certainly in no mood to do anything about their problems, with the New York Institute attempting to get him inside those cursed walls.
Magnus tightened his hands on the banister.
The next time he willingly set foot in the New York Institute, it would be to tear the very stones down to their foundation after what their negligence had cost the downworld.
~!~
Alec stared at the fire message in his fingertips, his eyes closing in resignation. Andrew muffled a cough from across him, and Alec met his eyes, knowing that it would only be another day before his eyes were glossy and pale, just like the dozens of other Shadowhunters in the infirmary.
"Well?" Andrew asked. He coughed again.
"Based on that look," Isaiah said, looking from the note to Alec's face. "I am going to guess that he refused, again." He snorted. "Least he sent you a response instead of ignoring you this time."
Alec swallowed and pushed his fingers through his hair and allowed himself to slump back in the chair in front of the two men who knew him better than almost any other. "He said there was no price in this world that could persuade him to ever work with the Clave again."
"Fuck," Isaiah breathed. "And if he has blacklisted you, you know that all the other warlocks will as well, they always follow his lead."
Alec gave a terse nod, rubbing anxiously at his hair. "Carla Mayweather? How is she?"
Andrew stiffened at the mention of the young girl, the first one who had gotten sick in the Institute. "The Healers aren't sure she's going to make it to dawn, sir."
Alec clenched his eyes shut and took a slow, shaky breath, thinking of the precocious eleven-year old who reminded him so much of Max. "What haven't we offered him that he might be willing to accept?"
Silence greeted his question, and Alec felt the weight of it settle onto his shoulders. Both the alpha and beta in front of him had helped him to come up with all of the different payments he had offered to the alpha of the downworld, Magnus Bane, but he had refused to entertain any of them. A blank check, whatever Magnus Bane would have demanded had been their last resort, but even that had been turned away.
Even the mention of lives being lost hadn't been enough to sway Bane, and Alec bit down the uncomfortable realization that he might have misjudged the warlock he knew through reputation only. He had thought, when Bane would realize that lives, children's lives were at stake, he would request an exorbitant price and do the healing. But now, with one more rejection letter in his hand, Alec was out of ideas on how to help his people.
This was how they would lose an entire generation of shadowhunters, if not the entire Institute.
Whatever disease was sweeping through their ranks could be slowed down by iratzes, but it couldn't be cured by any mundane or angelic medicine. They needed warlock healing, they needed healing that was no longer available to them since the downworld had separated from the Clave. Alec bit down a snarl and stood up, well-aware that both Isaiah and Andrew were watching, waiting for his decision, for his order.
He imagined sending the letter, the first of what could be hundreds, depending on how long he stayed healthy himself, to the parents of the children who had all gotten sick because they had shared a dormitory. Alec stepped in front of the fire and stared into it, his mind racing for any ideas that they hadn't already exhausted.
Every warlock contact he'd reached out to had ignored him or responded that Magnus would be the only one to speak with. Dozens of warlocks, and none of them were willing to help children. Alec snarled and bared his teeth, breathing hard, staring at the fire, angry tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. His fingers dug into the wood of the sill and he could smell Andrew and Isaiah both becoming more worried about him by the second.
That was enough to give him an idea.
A horrific, unheard of, idea.
Alec swallowed and let out a quiet breath, closing his eyes.
For his people, he would do anything. Even this. Anything, if it meant keeping them alive, safe, and healthy. The thought of Carla dying, now, after she had fought so hard was repulsive, and it was all the impetuous he needed. "We have me," he said, his voice soft.
"What?"
"Sir!"
Alec turned to look at them, at his Second, and his Head of Security. He swallowed down the fear that wanted to consume him and lifted his chin, looking at them. "You know how much they're, we're prized. If I offer him a night-"
"Sir," Andrew interrupted. "You wouldn't be safe."
Alec quirked an eyebrow at Andrew and smiled. "We have no evidence to say that Magnus Bane is cruel to anyone other than those who hunt his people down. I have no doubt that if he were to accept, I would be returned in perfect working order."
Isaiah stared at Alec and then to the fire. "It's entirely possible that he could tell everyone. Release the information to the downworld, and to the Nephilim. The price on your head, the death threats alone would see massive increases."
"Well," Alec said with a huff, closing his eyes. "Good thing I'm already used to that, right?" Neither of them said a word, but the finality in his tone was enough to communicate that this was as good as done. If Bane accepted the offer.
If.
Alec sat down at his desk and picked up a piece of paper. "Andrew, begin making preparations for me to be unavailable for a period of twenty-four hours. Likely starting this evening."
Andrew nodded, snapping to attention. "Yes, sir."
Alec watched him go, leaving him and Isaiah alone in the room. He turned to look at his Second and was grateful for the calm that the alpha was exuding, even though it wasn't enough to prevent his nerves. "I need you to deliver the letter to Bane. I won't risk this going ignored."
Isaiah frowned. "Alec."
"It's all right," Alec said, taking a deep breath before beginning to write. He kept the letter short and sweet, as he had all his past letters. "It's just one night. You'll know where I will be."
"I don't think it's a good idea to have me deliver it," Isaiah said. "What you're offering-"
"I would spend a year in his bed if it meant that no one dies in the next few days," Alec snapped, lifting his eyes to Isaiah. "It is not too high a price, and it is mine to offer," he added, his scent curling with certainty.
Isaiah gave a nod. "Send him the message. If he accepts, then prepare yourself as best you can to be safe. I'll pick you up and if we need to-"
"Yes," Alec agreed, looking down at the paper in front of him. "Inform my brother and sister that I'm not to be disturbed and that I will be gone for more than a day."
"Yes sir," Isaiah said. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, sorrow bleeding into his scent. "Thank you," he added, before stepping to the door, shutting it behind himself.
Alec clenched his eyes shut and forced himself to take another breath before he finished writing the letter to Magnus Bane. With a flourish, he sent off what would be, hopefully, the final fire message between them both.
~!~
Magnus was mid-laugh, Dmitri sprawled across his lap in the most delicious way when the fire message fluttered through the air. But unlike the others, this one was red, indicating the urgency of it and he snagged it, helping his companion off of his lap for a moment while he unfolded the letter.
High Warlock Bane,
You say there is no price you would be willing to accept in return for your services.
However, I am offering a single night, and day, with an unclaimed, virgin omega, in exchange for the healing magics needed to save my people's lives.
If you accept, they will arrive at your door at a time of your choosing and remain for a period of 24 hours after you have healed those that require it at the Institute.
If you refuse, the deaths of more than twenty-seven children will be on your hands, and I don’t believe either of us wants that.
Andrew Underhill will organize your upcoming visit.
Alec Lightwood, Head of the New York Institute
Anger was an old and familiar friend to Magnus. The letter was shaking in his hand and he stood up off the couch, moving away from the people crowding around him. He could barely breathe through the fury threatening to suffocate him as he made his way to his office, sitting down in the chair behind his desk, dropping the letter onto the table and his face into his hands.
Magnus re-read it a second, and a third time to ensure that not a single word had been misrepresented. No. It was true. Alec Lightwood had offered up one of his own people as a sacrifice to save the lives of others. He was well-aware of what the Nephilim thought the downworld did with their omegas. Tortured them, made them sex slaves, or worse, drinking their potent blood, using it for spells, and forcing them into a life of servitude. Magnus had seen the Clave texts himself.
Of course, not a single piece of it was true. Omegas were...
Magnus swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Omegas were a treasure and every single downworlder knew it. Knew how important they were, and how rare they were. There was only a handful born every few decades, and they were some of the sweetest and strongest people Magnus knew.
Omegas were, of course, the only way for warlocks to have children, which added to their prized nature. Magnus sucked in a frantic breath and stared down at the letter.
Unclaimed, virgin omega.
A shudder of revulsion crawled up his spine as Magnus stared at the handwriting. He had the measure of Alec Lightwood and who he was as a person, a leader, and a despicable alpha, sitting in front of him. Lightwood probably had wanted to keep that omega for himself, or hell, maybe the omega was his, and Lightwood saw the poor thing as his property to give away as he chose.
Making a split-second decision, Magnus snapped himself into a new outfit and opened a portal.
~!~
Alec sat in silence in his office until the alarms across the Institute blared, sending everyone into high alert. He whipped out his phone, but Underhill was already calling him. He swiped the call open as he stepped to the door.
Andrew didn't waste any time. "Magnus Bane portaled just inside our wards."
Alec nearly dropped the phone in relief, sagging against the door, a ragged breath escaping him. He'd accepted. That had been enough. Alec swallowed hard and forced himself to breathe. "Escort him to the infirmary. Get everyone healed, and if he knows a way to prevent it or inoculate the rest of us against it, get it from him as part of the payment."
"Yes, sir," Andrew said. "Your leave has been organized. As soon as I know the timeframe, I'll inform you."
Alec swallowed again and licked his lips, his mouth filled with cotton before he forced himself to straighten his shoulders. This was going to save his people. That was all that mattered. A night and day with a warlock were not going to kill him, and it would save so many others.
That was all he had to remember.
His hands trembled, even as he remained leaning against his door, breathing hard.
~!~
Magnus crossed his arms over his chest and resisted the urge to tap his foot as he waited. Thankfully, it was less than a minute before a blonde shadowhunter was exiting the Institute to stride towards him. He blinked briefly in surprise when a hand was thrust towards him, shaking it on pure muscle memory. "Magnus Bane, High Warlock of the Downworld," he said.
"Andrew Underhill, Head of Security for the New York Institute. If you could follow me, High Warlock Bane, I'll show you to our infirmary. I also have all of the notes and information we have compiled on the illness to provide to you," he added, offering Magnus the folder before he began to climb the stairs.
Magnus frowned and followed the shadowhunter up the stairs, flipping through the pages. The multiple pictures, that spanned four pages, had him lengthening his strides. The Head of the Institute had not been exaggerating and had not overestimated the severity of the problem.
Magnus stepped into the sickbay and froze, his eyes widening in horror.
Demonic Coxillia.
He'd recognize the stench anywhere. Magnus looked at the Head of Security. "Who had it first?" he growled. "I need to see them now."
"One of our new trainees, her name is Carla Mayweather," Underhill said, leading the way into a separate room. He paused to cough into his elbow. "It's not contagious that we have been able to find, but it is working its way through the Institute."
"Yourself included I imagine," Magnus said, stepping into the room with the young girl laid out on pale sheets. Her skin was almost the same color white and the few runes she sported were too dark on her skin.
Underhill acknowledged the question with a nod. "Do you know what this is?"
Magnus held up a hand and walked up to the girl, taking her hand. He pushed magic into her and nearly gasped at how advanced the disease was. Her vital organs were starting to shut down. He grunted and pushed more power into her, eradicating it under the sheer force of his power. Once her chest was rising and falling easier, he looked to the blonde shadowhunter in the doorway. "How many infected?" he growled.
"Eighty-four in total. We have another six expected cases," Andrew said, his hands behind his back.
Magnus paused and took a deep breath to assimilate that number. He could have healed maybe a dozen cases on his own, but an outbreak of that magnitude...
He took another deep breath and looked back to the blonde shadowhunter. "I need to know everything about Carla's whereabouts before she got sick. Include her belongings, any mail that she has received, and her weapons. Anywhere she has been, anything she has touched."
Andrew frowned. "Why?"
"Because," Magnus managed to grit out. "Demonic Coxillia is the equivalent of wildly lethal demon pox and it
is
contagious because whatever she caught it from is clearly still in your Institute."
Andrew's eyes widened and he whipped out his phone, hitting an alert. "We'll have that information right away. In the meantime. The others?"
Magnus stared down at the young girl in the bed. Twenty-seven children, Lightwood had said. "Get started on that information for me. I need to call in more warlocks. I can't heal them all."
"Is there a cure?" Underhill asked. "Or a way we can-"
"If we find out what is contaminated, it will stop spreading," Magnus growled. "There is no cure other than to burn the disease out of a person with magic." Another sigh of frustration built up in his throat, and he remembered that Lightwood was willing to pay with another person for this healing.
Andrew cleared his throat. "Is there anything further that you need to assist us, High Warlock Bane?"
Magnus shook his head. "After I bring in the other warlocks, we shouldn't need anything."
"Very well," Andrew said, making a note on his tablet. "Then the last thing I will require from you will be an address."
"An address?" he asked, looking at him. When the blonde shadowhunter hesitated, Magnus fought down another growl, his magic roiling uncomfortably. An address the omega could be delivered to. Like they were less than human, a package to be delivered and picked up later. He waved a hand and summoned his business card with the address of his loft in Brooklyn, giving it to the shadowhunter.
He pushed past the blonde and pulled out his phone. Magnus stared at Catarina's number and hit dial on it. Thankfully, she answered, and there was no hectic sound of the hospital behind it.
"Magnus, here I was wondering where you disappeared to last night-"
"The shadowhunters have a severe outbreak of Demonic Coxillia," Magnus interrupted her, knowing they didn't have time to waste. "I need you, Ragnor, Oberon, Lorenzo, and Alannia. Now."
Catarina's attention sharpened. "How many?"
"Estimated ninety." Magnus' face was grim as he listened to Catarina gasp. "It sounds like more than a dozen are less than twelve hours away from dying. Until we find the source, it's likely there will be more."
"Lilith below," Catarina swore. "I'll be there shortly."
Magnus met the blonde shadowhunter's eyes and nodded. "Someone will be waiting outside the Institute wards to receive you. I'll take care of any compensation they demand."
"I'll be there," Catarina promised. "Don't kill yourself trying to heal them. We'll be there soon."
Magnus closed his eyes and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. The sound of the blonde shadowhunter coughing behind him had him turning. "Come here," he ordered. "I'll do you next, since you need to escort them in."
Andrew hesitated, before he nodded. If Alec was going to be gone from the Institute and under the power of the man in front of him, he needed to be around to run interference. "Very well."
"Good," Magnus said, stepping in front of him. "You're not as far along. It might feel weird," he cautioned, resting his hands on the shoulders of the shadowhunter, his magic chasing the disease, burning it out of him. Thankfully, it hadn't advanced far yet and he pulled his hands back with a nod.
Andrew blinked and stared at the High Warlock, even as he spun away and into another hospital room in the infirmary. He tightened his fingers around his tablet. He needed to remind himself that Bane was only doing this because of what he was being given. He'd refused any possible payment except...
He shook himself and sent a message to the rest of Security, informing them of the additional warlocks that would be arriving. They had work to do.