Chapter Text
The insomniac streets of New York hummed with activity. Mundane and downworlder alike went about their business in the candy-colored glow of billboards, streetlamps, and traffic lights. The wet pavement bled shades of neon in oil slick trails that swallowed the lines on the road.
A demon, unseen in the human skin it wore, followed the flow of pedestrian traffic.
Alec could just barely make out the unearthly glow that shrouded it in an aura no glamor could mask. Like a match in a flask of sulfur, the red and pink glow burned bright, blending into the cacophony of light spilling out of the club it headed straight towards.
As one, Alec, Izzy, and Jace dropped from the rooftop they’d trailed the demon from. Underneath the watercolor glamor, the sidewalks were a mosaic of newspaper pulp and pigeon shit. Beneath its human suit, the demon was sure to be worse.
Alec wrinkled his nose in disgust.
The line outside the club was long; Mundanes unaware that the club they were dying to get into was a downworlder hotspot. The sign flashed in a creative array, Pandemonium falling away letter by letter until only demon remained, and yet the humans remained none the wiser. Miles of skin were exposed to the night air. Leather covered all the wrong places, while glitter and cheap makeup stained the rest. They stood huddled against the instinctive chill prey feels in the presence of predators. The stink of desperation was as thick as the smell of alcohol, and beside him Izzy cooed sympathetically as they slipped past the line and into the club.
Alec activated his Stamina and drew up the rear. The hypnotic music thrummed in time with his heartbeat, and the lights flashed in liquid shades of blue and pink, drenching everyone inside. The crowd parted around him, writhing bodies instinctively letting him through. Sweat replaced the smell of desperation, but that, at least, was a scent Alec was familiar with.
Jace led point, tracking the demon with a single-minded focus that almost made Alec forget this mission was unsanctioned. Their mark had transformed several times, flitting from one stolen identity to the next with an ease that unnerved Alec. It was as though the demon knew it was being stalked.
Jace never once lost sight of it, though the same couldn’t be said for Izzy.
Alec was tempted to drag her away by the elbow, the way he’d done when they were kids. Her face an open picture of exhilaration as she twirled through the crowd. She looked like she belonged there. The white leather that clung to her body like a second skin reflected the lights as she danced across the club. She slowed and stopped frequently, to memorize the way the dancers moved around them, and then incorporated it into her routine as though it were second nature. Absorbing the knowledge like she did combat training on the weapons floor.
Alec could hazard a guess where he’d find her the next time she snuck out.
He refocused on Jace, and the demon ahead of them as his parabatai slowed. Its latest identity stolen from a pretty mundane in a magenta dress. A sore thumb amidst the androgyne, leather-clad crowd. Alec watched as the demon paused in its ill-fitting skin to exchange words with the bouncers.
Jace didn’t slow as the demon moved on, following it to a curtained off portion of the club, with Izzy close behind. Alec flashed them a quick signal and broke away to investigate.
He kept his eyes on the pair of men as he cut through the crowd.
The technicolor lights that scattered off the mirrored lenses of bouncer’s sunglasses swept across the dance floor like a lighthouse beacon. It followed them like an afterimage in the air, leaving behind a trail for Alec to track.
He renewed the hunt. Sweat dripped beneath his armor among the crush of warm bodies as he forced his way through them. His eyes never left his quarry.
A muscle in his jaw jumped as the crowd shifted, and he was able to get more than a scattered glimpse. Concealed weapons disrupted the lines of the bouncer’s jackets. Bespoke suits rendered cheap as any rented tux. Alec’s lip curled in contempt at the pathetic sight; it made his fingers itch to correct the weapons placement. To fix the fall of the fabric so they all but disappeared.
The crowd around Alec thinned as he reached the edge of the dance floor. He passed by a couch raised above the club like an opulent throne, where an eclectic mix of downworlders held court. If the dancers around him were dressed to impress, they were dressed to kill. Alec caught a flash of gold eyes among them that shone undiluted under the pulsing lights, and his mouth went dry.
Alec felt a shiver run down his spine under the weight of the stare, before his trajectory took him out of range, and he lost even that cover.
Absent the crush of bodies, Alec was a sitting duck. The bouncers took notice of him at once, heads turning in tandem to size him up. Alec froze, and time slowed to a crawl.
The lights strobed, and lasers cut through the illuminated haze of dry ice. The scarlet runes that curled around the bouncer’s throats shone stark under the flash for only a moment, but Alec recognized them all the same.
Raised, concentric circles. Valentine’s men.
The Circle members drew their Seraph blades as one. Adamas glowed with angelic power under the strobing lights, and the blades seemed to vibrate at a frequency that drowned out the music.
Alec heard shouts of alarm on the dance floor behind him. Downworlders hyperaware of their proximity to adamas. Too used to the lethal bite of it to linger.
A cold rush of adrenaline burst in Alec’s chest. He reached for his bow.
Fingers grasped only air, as his hands came away empty. Too late, Alec remembered the seraph blade Jace had shoved into his grasp instead.
He didn’t get a chance to recover. Alec felt his adrenaline crystallize into something firmer and narrowly dodged a devastating blow when the Circle members sprang into action.
His blade never felt farther away as fumbled for it; barely avoiding another attack. His assailants weren’t completely incompetent; they didn’t leave him with an opportunity to arm himself.
Alec dropped beneath the swing of a sword, adamas whistling scant inches above his face, before he struck barehanded against the man’s solar plexus, knocking him solidly backwards.
The move bought him time, but it wasn’t enough. The other Circle Member was on him before he could get his blade between them. Alec’s hands itched for a weapon with an ardent need he hadn’t felt since he was fifteen. He spun and dodged around the sword and struggled to put distance between them. Always just barely a second too late.
The stalemate couldn’t last.
There was a sudden bolt of indigo light, a blinding flash-bang that sent everyone stumbling backwards, and then Alec’s bow was in his hands. Solid and very real.
Alec didn’t question it. Couldn’t spare a second to give in to shock that settled like stone in his stomach. He clenched the supple leather grip of his only lifeline, and ignored the empty spot at his side where his parabatai should be.
The music was loud in his ears as he drew back the nock point, feeling that same sharp need as the fletching of an arrow solidified against his cheek.
He exhaled, string snapping against his thumb, and the arrow whistled forward. It found its mark in the taller of the Circle members, burying itself deep in his shoulder.
Alec was already moving when the second Circle member swung at him. He dropped as the adamas hummed above him, alive and hungry. His knees hit the floor and Alec had his bow hooked around the man’s leg in the same motion. All it took was a brutal twist, and he had the upper hand.
The bones in the Circle member’s knee snapped, and the man collapsed a pained scream. His blade clattered uselessly to the floor.
A labored grunt behind Alec was all the warning he got; the second circle member not content to be forgotten.
Alec threw himself out of the path of the blade. He came up in a roll, bow raised, the plume of blue mist trailing around him. The fletching of another impossible arrow brushed against his cheek, as he stared down the shaft aimed at the heart of the Circle member.
The man froze and slowly raised his left hand to surrender. The right one dangled uselessly at his side; Alec’s arrow still embedded in his shoulder.
Alec rose from his crouch, keeping the man carefully in his sight. His face wasn’t immediately recognizable. The sort of no-name entity who had slunk to the shadows to lick their wounds when Valentine’s “Glorious Revolution” failed to bear fruit. That such scum had found its way back to the surface, said much of societal decline.
“Drop your weapon.”
The adamas clanged against the floor as the Circle member complied. High, discordant notes clashed against the pounding subwoofers of the club mix as Alec kicked the blade away.
He cocked his head as he paced around the Circle member. Without the weapon he seemed smaller. As sniveling and desperate as the Mundanes in the queue.
“Buying Mundane blood from demons seems against Valentine’s MO,” Alec commented, tone deceptively bland. “Wouldn’t you say?”
The Circle member in question sneered unflatteringly.
“What would a child like you know of the greatness of Valentine?” He spat on the marble dance floor. “You were but an infant when the Circle was at its height.”
Alec wondered if the Circle member believed that for even a second. There wasn’t a corner of the shadow world that hadn’t been infected by Valentine’s cancer. Everything corrupted and perverted in the name of the man’s Greatness.
“You’re right,” Alec lied, cataloging the shock on the Circle member’s face. “But the Inquisitor?” he breathed a pitying laugh.
“Imogen Herondale was hardly a child when Valentine slaughtered her son.”
It was there for only a second, but Alec saw it clear as day. Terror.
Resolve quickly replaced the fear in his eyes, and it was the only warning Alec got before the Circle member lunged.
Alec’s arrow was in motion before he had to think about it. The string of his bow snapped against the pad of his thumb, and feathers sprouted from the Circle Member’s ribcage. An arrow buried deep in his heart.
The Circle member collapsed in a heap. Changed in a matter of seconds from human to hollow meat. Blood trickled from the slack corners of his mouth down onto the floor, where it joined the growing pool that glistened under the proscenium. A viscous mirror that captured the shifting motion of kaleidoscopic lights. Alien compared to the smoking ichor that demons bled; foul enough to eat through stone.
The body had scarcely begun to cool when a cry rang through the air.
“Watch out!”
Alec spun on his heel. An arrow was in his sight with nothing more than a wisp of blue to indicate it had been immaterial. It was ripped from his grasp.
The horizon flipped.
Alec’s head collided with solid stone in an explosion of pain from the force of a blow he felt in his teeth. His ears rang with a high-pitched frequency that bore deep into his skull. Black spots arced across his vision. Everything slowly came into focus as the Circle member he’d handicapped pinned him.
Alec’s pained hiss died under the sudden pressure of adamas.
“Well, well,” the Circle member breathed, his voice as greasy as his slicked back hair. The seraph blade sang against Alec’s neck. The marble floor was ice against his back.
“Looks like the Clave employs half-breeds now. That arrow trick may have gotten Pangborn, but I won’t be so easy to kill.”
Alec bared his teeth at the man and his foul breath.
“The Clave will issue a kill on sight order for attacking a Shadowhunter. They’ won’t even offer a bounty. Your death will be community service.”
The Circle member just laughed.
“Maybe so.” Alec fought a flinch as the man dragged the back of his hand down his cheek, revulsion churning in his gut. “But if I kill a downworlder playing soldier? That’s just another Tuesday, isn’t it?”
“What are you talking abo—” Alec grunted, as the hand clamped over his mouth, cutting off his question.
“Shhhh,” the Circle member crooned. “I wish I had the time to make this hurt for what you did to Pangborn, but I’ll settle for ridding the world of one more filthy warlock.”
Alec barely had time to be confused before he felt the Seraph blade press harder against his throat, sharp enough that he could barely feel the bite of the slash.
He sent a final, silent apology to Jace and Izzy before the blade disappeared from his neck.
Alec’s hand went instinctively to stem the bleeding. He scrambled backwards, fighting the vertigo from his still-ringing ears, until his back met a wall. The pain hit a second later, and nearly sent him sprawling again. The pressure he applied was agony; his slick fingers could barely hold the wound together. Blood soaked his front.
A distant thought went to his stele. An Iratze, but Alec couldn’t make himself reach for it. It was all he could do to lean against the wall behind him as the world ceased to make sense.
The air felt electrified. Power buzzed all around him like the second before a lightning strike. The burn of ozone lodged in his sinuses. Alec couldn’t tell if it was real or a side effect of shock. His mind was still half convinced he was dying.
Lucidity didn’t help matters.
The world finally stopped spinning long enough for Alec to witness the Circle member rise into the air, strangled noises falling from his slack jaw as blue mist constricted around his throat like a noose.
His face turned a deadly shade of puce. He coughed and gagged, his legs bicycling uselessly in the air. White spittle foamed from his lips and his eyes bulged as the glasses fell down the bridge of his nose.
The man’s kicks grew weaker and weaker, until they stopped altogether, his body going limp. The corpse fell like a marionette without strings, the last of the light gone from its eyes, and Alec could only stare dumbly at the warlock left in its wake.
He watched his unconventional savior, trepidation tight in his chest, body rooted in place.
Blue mist wreathed the fingers of the silhouette, and the pulsing club lights haloed him in an unearthly aura. It was a moment before the imposing figure stepped forward, appearing to study the body on the empty dance floor.
“That was well done,” Alec finally rasped, his voice hoarse from the near miss.
“More like medium-rare,” The warlock disagreed, nudging the corpse with one of his dress shoes, before looking up.
Piercing golden eyes met his.
Just like before, Alec was paralyzed by their intensity, suddenly breathless for a reason he couldn’t pretend was entirely due to his near brush with death.
Underneath the lights the warlock was glittering and fey. Jewelry dripped from his ears, around his fingers, and down the planes of his exposed chest. His studded vest was absent a shirt underneath, the oiled leather revealing a vast expanse of equally burnished skin.
He smiled at Alec, which did nothing for his newfound inability to breathe.
“I’m Magnus Bane, I don’t believe we’ve officially met.”
Alec’s mouth was dry, his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth as he struggled to keep his gaze strictly on the man’s face. He didn’t know what he’d expected of the High Warlock of Brooklyn, but he knew it wasn’t this.
“Alec,” he finally managed, tongue heavy in his mouth.
Magnus laughed. “Charmed, I’m sure.” He offered a hand and hauled Alec to his feet.
Alec swayed at the sudden head-rush, as he was instantly taller than Magnus, and he clung to the hand in his grasp, certain he’d wind up back on the ground without it.
Magnus didn’t seem inclined to let Alec go, going so far to smile coquettishly up at him before the smile to slipped free of his face with the suddenness of beaded water off waxed canvas. Concern bled into his too-observant eyes as he looked Alec up and down.
“Did they hurt you?”
Magnus reached up and grabbed Alec’s jaw, without waiting for an answer, and a spark jumped from his hand to Alec’s skin.
Alec shivered, his every nerve a live wire under the warm points of contact as Magnus tilted his face closer for examination underneath the lights. Alec was too stunned to remember to object to the proximity.
Magnus gently tugged Alec’s hand away from the laceration, his own hand lighting up blue. There was barely time to process the potential danger of a warlock wielding magic near his throat before his neck was suffused in warmth. the pain slowly faded.
“Quite the nasty cut,” Magnus tutted, his attention firmly on the task at hand. “Lucky for you, I got there when I did.”
Alec swallowed hard and felt a brief flash of pain before it was soothed by Magnus’ magic.
“You saved my life,” he forced out. “Thank you.”
Magnus paused long enough to give him a coy look. “Well, I could hardly let the Circle destroy such a pretty face, now, could I?”
It felt like the temperature of the club increased, and Alec opened his mouth to say something, anything, but it just hung there in a silent O. He finally gave up, fixing his eyes resolutely on the ceiling where it was safe.
“There.” Magnus sounded satisfied, and the warm sensation of magic disappeared from Alec’s throat. “All better. Nothing like a little TLC to help a wound of that caliber.”
He removed his hand from Alec’s jaw but didn’t step away. Alec dragged his gaze away from the ceiling against his better judgement and stared blatantly at the glittering warlock in front of him. His head still swam slightly, thoughts slow to form, though he wondered how much that had to do with injury after the healing effect of magic.
Magnus was still staring up at him, as though he were something particularly interesting, and Alec could only stare quizzically at him in return. He didn’t know what to make of the warlock who’d not only saved his life but healed him without hesitation.
“Thank you,” he finally said, his voice still rough. “Again. You didn’t have to do any of that.”
“No thanks are necessary,” Magnus denied. “In fact, let me do you one better. Ordinarily I’d love to get you out of that shirt…”
Magnus winked, and Alec nearly swallowed his tongue. “But I’ll save you the trouble of getting it dry cleaned.”
He snapped his fingers, and the tacky feeling of blood disappeared from Alec’s neck and shirt collar. He opened his mouth to thank Magnus, again, only for the warlock to freeze, his golden eyes glued to his throat. Right where his deflect rune stood in stark relief now that it was no longer covered in blood.
“You’re a Shadowhunter.”
It wasn’t a question but rather an accusation. There was a flash of blue and Magnus’ eyes lost their unearthly glow, reverting to an entirely human shade of brown. He stepped back, his glamour and guard up.
Disappointment hit like a bucket of ice water to the face; one of Hodge’s more creative wake-up calls. Alec nearly denied it before he remembered himself. He squared his shoulders and squashed the irrational hurt he felt, smoothing the planes of his face until nothing showed. It made sense that Magnus’ kindness was a mistake. A case of mistaken identity. It was the only thing that had made sense since Alec had let Jace talk him into this mess.
He shoved the messy tangle of emotion brewing in his chest aside for professionalism. Projected the same cool disinterest as Magnus.
“I am.”
Magnus put more distance between them.
“Thank you,” he started, mouth twisting like it physically cost him to say the words, “for alerting me to the presence of Circle Members in my club. You can let the Clave know I have it handled from here—”
“The Clave isn’t involved,” Alec said before he could think better of it.
Magnus stared at him, lips hanging open, the rest of his sentence abandoned.
“That,” he started slowly, “was either a very brave, or very stupid thing to say to me. Either the Clave truly doesn’t know you’re here; meaning of course that you’re violating at least a dozen different Shadowhunter laws and going against hundreds of years of tradition.”
“Or” he continued, raising a hand where blue mist danced around his fingertips. “And this is a lot more likely: you thought you could get away with lying to me.”
Alec frowned, trying and failing to summon fear. “I’m not lying.”
“Aren’t you?” Magnus returned, giving him a critical once over. “Don’t tell me you came here for the dancing, not armed like that.”
“We were following a lead on the recent mundane deaths—”
“We?” Magnus interrupted with a raised eyebrow.
Alec’s mouth snapped shut at the slip.
I was following up on the mundane deaths—”
“That’s enough,” Magnus cut him off, hand going up to smooth out the crease in his forehead. He looked back up at Alec, eyes cold as flint.
“You’re covering for someone. Who?”
Alec met his gaze unflinching, lips sealed in a line as firm as his resolve. He’d compromised himself, but Izzy and Jace hadn’t been spotted. Not yet.
Magnus’ expression was scrutinizing, eyes narrowed as though he were trying to pluck the answer from Alec’s brain. He stepped closer.
“Who else is in my club?”
“I’ll leave right now,” Alec surrendered. “I owe you my life, you won’t have to worry about the Institute or the Clave—”
“I’ll involve the Clave myself if it means getting to the bottom of this,”
Magic saturated the air, coalescing into a portal. Alec knew it was a bluff. A Warlock could no more portal into Alicante, than Alec could. He still moved to intercept Magnus.
“Wait.”
Alec caught Magnus by the wrist, feeling a dangerous shiver when the warlock’s eyes flashed gold at the invasion. For a moment he felt trapped in those eyes. Bright with anger, not even the ghost of Magnus’ earlier kindness remained. It emboldened rather than censured Alec.
“It’s just my sister and my Parabatai,” he admitted.
The portal pulsed one asynchronous beat and Magnus tilted his head surprise flitting briefly across his features. “Why?”
“We were tracking a demon, a lesser Eidolon. It should’ve been on the Institute’s radar; NYPD put the count at seven known deaths, all Mundanes completely drained of blood, but there wasn’t a single alert.”
Magnus’ face was equal parts skepticism and reserved judgement, but he didn’t interrupt.
Alec swallowed, too aware of the way the warlock’s pulse thrummed against his fingertips. He didn’t look any less cold, but he didn’t break Alec’s grip either.
“There wasn’t time to petition the Clave for a mission, not when we risked missing the handoff,” Alec recounted. “My parabatai led the mission, and my sister and I were his reinforcements.”
“If your parabatai is strong enough that you count as backup, why didn’t he take the Circle members?”
Shame prickled down Alec’s spine, and he dropped Magnus’ wrist to rub the ache in his neck. The healed wound gave a phantom twinge at the reminder.
“I thought I had it under control. Clearly, I… miscalculated.”
The word tasted sour in his mouth. Alec looked away. Let his gaze fall until the blood congealing on the dance floor was all he saw. He could imagine it as his blood all too easily. The cost of a miscalculation in his line of work was death; there was no room for imperfection.
“I thought Shadowhunters didn’t make mistakes?” Magnus echoed his thoughts.
Alec winced at the not-undeserved barb.
“They don’t tend to last long,” he admitted, fingers clenched, nails digging half-moon imprints into his palms. “The hallmark of any skilled Shadowhunter is that they’re still alive.”
“And how many of them owe their lives to a downworlder?”
Alec could recognize the trap for what it was, if only because Magnus hadn’t bothered disguising it.
“None that would ever admit it,” Alec replied, his voice strong in its surety. “Death is considered more honorable.”
“And you?” Magnus asked, eyebrow arched high across his forehead, disappointment a forgone conclusion.
It was enough to make Alec pause before defending their decision. He considered what it would cost to admit Magnus had saved his life: His credibility. His reputation. His family’s standing. Nothing that he hadn’t already jeopardized by letting Jace talk him into this mission. There were secrets he carried that were dangerous in what they would cost him, but this wasn’t one of them. Not yet.
“Honor comes from the deed, not the name,” he said slowly. Weighing his words with care. “Any Shadowhunter who saved my life would be considered my brother in arms. Our families would be allies.” Alec held Magnus’ gaze. “I can’t offer you that,” he said apologetically. “but I won’t pretend you didn’t save my life.”
The portal glowed softly behind Magnus, illuminating him in electric blues and shades of violet, casting his features in sharp relief. Alec couldn’t read his expression; could only stand hostage in his gaze.
“You truly mean that, don’t you?” Magnus finally asked wryly, tilting his head as he stepped forward. “A Shadowhunter with an ounce of humility. My, what is Maryse doing over there?”
“I—” a finger brushed against Alec’s lips in a gentle shushing motion, the skin warmed rings adding a metallic taste to the air he breathed.
“If you’d like to make it up to me personally,” Magnus said, the warmth bleeding slowly back into his expression. “you’ll accompany me for drinks.”
Alec stared at Magnus for a long moment, waiting for the punchline. The silence only grew comfortable in its infinity.
“Drinks?” he repeated, to make sure he’d heard Magnus correctly.
“You’re familiar with the concept, yes?”
Alec frowned. “I know what drinks are. Just… why?”
“You seem… Sympathetic.” Magnus said the word carefully, layered meaning bleeding from the edges. “I’d like to get to know an honorable Shadowhunter. They’re a rather rare breed in my experience.”
The words were light, teasing almost, but there was steel underneath his airy tone. Not a trap, but a challenge. A dare to disappoint him.
“Alright,” Alec agreed before his nerve could fail him. “When?”
If Magnus was surprised by his agreement, he didn’t show it. “No time like the present.” Magnus gestured towards the portal behind him, his gaze no less challenging.
Alec stared at the portal, uncertainty worming through his stomach. Strands of magic spun in an endless loop. Like the magazine of a revolver clicking away. He looked for the weighted chamber, the slightest hint of a trick, but he was blind to the nuances of spell work.
Trust or luck? What did he put more stock in?
Magnus had already saved his life once; strangely Alec didn’t think it was a one-off.
He took a deep breath and stepped through the portal.