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happy birthday andromeda herondale the queen you are

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(Part 2) City of Lost Souls, Epilogue

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

“I’m heading over to the Institute to see Jace,” Clary said. Do you want me to bring you anything back?”

Luke shook his head. “Your mother’s at the store, stocking up.” He leaned over to ruffle her hair, and winced. He was healing, but slowly. “Have fun, you two.”

“Going somewhere?”a new voice asked. Andy popped her head out of the hallway and walked towards them all, casually greeting Clary with a hug. She hung on a little longer than necessary, but she met the embrace without complaint, offering an encouraging smile when she pulled away. “How are you doing, love?”

“Surviving,” she said honestly. Andy brushed her hands down her arms and held her hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. “You?”

“About the same.” Andy sighed deeply, her eyes slightly hazed, staring past her. She shook her head as if to clear herself from the thought and turned to Luke with a smile. “I’m having a great time convincing this guy to not do a shotgun Vegas wedding. I told him I need an excuse to party after all this.”

“I am not throwing a wedding for you to get drunk at, Andy.”

“I never said you were!” she said, hand clutched to her chest in mock-offense. “You’re marrying the love of your life, celebrating your marriage…alcohol is just a bonus.” She winked at Clary, who stifled a laugh. 

Luke rolled his eyes. “Don’t you need to go home soon, too?”

“Aw, kicking out your favorite niece?” she asked, slinging her arm over his shoulder. She was so effortless in her movements, yet still incredibly cautious not to go anywhere near his bandages. “No, I promised Jocelyn I'd babysit until she got back.”

“Babysit?”

“She doesn’t trust you not to start doing housework while unsupervised.” Simon, quiet until now, snorted and unsuccessfully tried to cover it with a cough. Andy grabbed Luke by the shoulders and pushed him down on the couch with some grumbling from him. “So you are going to sit here and watch your reruns, and I’m going to walk these two out.”

Clary brushed past her to give Luke another hug goodbye and followed Andy out the door. It was brisk—snow hadn’t started to fall yet, but it was definitely cold. She was surprised Andy could survive outside in the thin long-sleeve shirt she wore. “You two seem to be getting on better,” she said as she followed Andy down the stairs of the front porch. “Something change?”

“My mother,” she said as if it was nothing. Simon’s face soured, frowning at her comment. Before she had the chance to ask, Andy continued, “she was turned by Sebastian. I had to fight her when we came to save you. She tried to kill me.”

Clary stopped dead in her tracks, a tight grip on the handrail, a step up from the ground level. She whipped around to face her, hair getting stuck in her chapstick. “She what?”

“Now you see why I’m so happy to get drunk when this is all over,” she said flatly. She turned, that same glazed-over look in her eye as she looked at her. Clary wasn’t convinced by her smile. “Believe it or not, your mom has been a godsend. So has Luke. Which is saying something, after how I’ve treated them since I got here.”

Clary blinked a few times, processing the new information. She hadn’t seen Andy since the night they got Jace back, how much didn’t she know? They’d have to catch up properly soon, even if it was over training at the Institute. “Luke knows you have a good heart. I’m sure Mom sees it, too,” she said carefully. “I think you were just…hurt.”

“I think so too.” Andy, quickly, wiped a tear from her eye and snapped up, rolling her shoulders back. Clary thought she was suspiciously good at pretending she wasn’t feeling anything. “Alright. You two get to the Institute—I’ll be home in time for dinner. Let me know if Jace wakes up. You get first dibs, but I think he needs a good talking-to about disappearing on us for weeks at a time.”

Clary let out something like a laugh and hugged her again, giving her an extra, supportive squeeze. They’d all been through hell the last few days, she figured, and she had enough hugs to go around for her, or for Simon or Izzy. 

She and Simon started down the sidewalk, towards the station to take them up to the Institute. “I saw Amatis that night,” Simon muttered to her as they got out of earshot. “Scary. But so was Andy. She kicked her ass.”

Clary nodded in agreement. “I know what losing my mom for a while felt like. I worry for her.”

Simon sighed and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, shaking her head at her. “You worry about everyone, Fray.”

And maybe she did. But with everything going on, wasn’t she right to?

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City of Lost Souls, Epilogue

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

“She’s completely all right,” Isabelle said hastily. 

“You swear. You're not just telling me that because you don't want to upset me.”

“She stabbed you,” Isabelle pointed out. 

“She did,” Alec agreed.

“When can I see her?” Jace said eagerly. 

Rowan, hands full of disposable coffee cups with lids, shifted them all to one side, pinned between their waist and arm. They listened through the door to the conversation of the Lightwoods. Part of them didn’t want to interrupt, but they’d promised a cup of coffee to Alec and Isabelle both. A pit started in their stomach; one of guilt, of jealousy, of anger, but it all felt…muted. Like there was anger to be had—they should be angry—but there was no energy left. The swelling around their eyes finally went down from the night before, but the headache and hoarseness in their voice never faded. 

The first time they heard any news about  Jensen, he was ripped away from their grasp moments later. According to Clary, there was no way to know if he was still alive. They didn’t blame her, not as much as they wanted to the night before. They were upset that Jace made it home instead of their brother. Was it wrong of them to wish it was reversed? To wish Jensen made it instead of Jace? They’d never admit it out loud, they couldn’t do that to Alec. 

They knocked on the door softly and pushed it open, kicking it closed behind them. They didn’t make eye contact with anyone, just took their place in the chair next to the bed after handing Isabelle and Alec their coffees. They took a long drink of theirs. “Glad to see you’re awake,” they said, hiding their face behind their hair and drink. 

A line formed between Jace’s eyebrows. He tried to sit up but winced and quickly stopped. “Rowan, about Jensen—”

“Don’t,” they said curtly. Realizing how harsh they sounded, they took a breath. “Sorry. Just…we do everything we can to find him. Other than that, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Isabelle nodded slowly and reached out to take their hand. They let her. They had no idea if Alec told her anything but they certainly hoped he hadn’t. Their previous meltdown was embarrassing enough as is, they didn’t need the whole institute knowing how they cried themselves into quite literally passing out. 

“Of course,” Jace said. 

Alec changed the topic swiftly, ever the diplomat. “The Silent Brothers have been in and out, checking in on you,” said Alec. “On this—” he touched the bandage on Jace’s chest— “and to see if you were awake. They’ll probably want to talk to you before they let you see Clary.”

“How long have I been out cold?”

“About two days,” said Alec. “Since we got back from the Burren and were pretty sure you weren’t going to die. Turns out it’s not that easy to completely heal a wound made by an archangel’s blade.”

“Who would have thought?” Rowan asked dryly. 

Jace smirked half-heartedly. “So what you're saying is that I'm going to have a scar.”

“A big, ugly one,” said Isabelle. “Right across your chest.”

“Well, damn,” said jace. “And I was relying on that money from the topless underwear modeling gig I had lined up, too.” He spoke wryly, but Rowan could tell he was lost in thought about it. They never wanted to imagine what having someone else control your emotions, your thoughts and will felt like. They saw Jace that night, and the Endarkened Shadowhunters, barely fighting them off to keep Magnus alive. They remembered Maia, soaring through the air behind them, taking down a red-robed woman, tearing out her throat to keep her away from them as they kept as much pressure on Magnus’s open wounds as they could. They remembered the terror in their heart as they realized he could die and leave them alone there.

And maybe that’s what they were there: alone. Their father was across the world, Jensen was missing, and they knew the Lightwoods were always their own little group of three, excluding them—its why they always got on so well with Hodge

Isabelle squeezing their hand turned their attention back to everyone in front of them. Jace turned slightly to look at Alec. “I never thought I'd fight on the opposite side of a battle from you,” he said hoarsely. “Never.”

“And you never will again,” Alec said, his jaw set.

“Jace,” Isabelle said. “Try to stay calm, all right? It’s just…”

Now what? “Is something else wrong?”

“Well, you're glowing a bit,” Isabelle said. “I mean just a smidge. Of the glowing.”

Alec raised the hand that held Jaces. Isabelle was right—in the darkness, there was a faint shimmer across his forearm that seemed to trace the lines of his veins like a map. “We think it's a leftover effect from the archangel’s sword,” he said. “It’ll probably fade soon, but the Silent Brothers are curious. Of course.”

Jace sighed and let his head fall back against the pillow. “Does that mean you have to go?” he asked. “Do you have to go get the brothers?”

“They instructed us to get them when you woke,” said Alec, his face tight, like he was unwilling to do so. 

“When has Jace ever done anything to follow the rules?” Rowan piped up. They stood and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. “Let the man rest for a few minutes.”

For the first time in a long time, Jace smiled at them, his golden eyes soft. With a pang in their heart, Rowan remembered the boy they fell in love with at fourteen, the boy who poked fun at them for reading poetry and Oscar Wilde in the library, the boy whose snotty comment turned into a years-long friendship; the boy who teased them in training and protected them fiercely in a real battle. He was the boy with the hardened soul that softened only for them.

Things were so different now, they realized, as they both had grown up from the young, dumb kids they were back then. They’d seen more than most Shadowhunters would see in a lifetime. They felt nothing for him anymore—not like that—but they suspected they’d always be fond of him, no matter how many times he broke their heart. 

“I feel tired,” he confessed, his voice soft and weak. “If I could sleep a few more hours…”

“Of course. Of course you can.” Isabelle’s fingers pushed his hair back, out of his eyes. Her tone was firm, absolute: a force as a mother bear protecting her cub. It reminded them of Maryse, though they’d never tell her that. 

Jace’s eyes began to close. “And you won’t leave me?”

“No,” Alec said. “No, we won’t ever leave you. You know that.”

“Never,” Isabelle took his hand, the one Alec wasn’t holding, and pressed it fiercely. “Lightwoods, all together,” she whispered. She squeezed Rowan’s hand, causing a wave of emotion to go through them. They, despite their best efforts, had always felt somewhat outcast from the Lightwoods. Like they never entirely belonged. Their friendship with Alec had been through its trials but even as a child, they preferred books to people. It was the reason Hodge took such an interest in them. That confirmation reminded them they had family here, no matter what happened. 

Jace, through half-closed eyes, looked at them. Years ago, they were able to read his expressions, but not so anymore. They offered an encouraging, half-hearted smile, and nodded with Isabelle's words. “Yeah,” they said, their voice barely above a whisper. It cracked, anyway. Were they crying again? “We’ve got you, Jace. Go to sleep.”

The furrow in his brown softened as he got comfortable, laying his head back with his eyes entirely closed. He fell asleep like that, with Isabelle and Rowan on one side of him and Alec on the other, as the sun came up with the dawn.

[x-ceirios-x]

love and loss

clary failed to save jensen from sebastian’s grasp and has to face the consequences of her actions. more specifically, his older sibling, who will stopped at nothing to find him.  

cw: vivid description of a panic attack

“Are you sure about this?”

“I don’t want you to have to do this yourself, Clary,” Simon said, tucking a bit of stray hair behind his best friend’s ear. “I know it’s a tough conversation. They won’t blame you.”

Clary already had tears in her eyes. Sebastian was gone, disappeared with the Infernal Cup, though she and Jace had made it out alive. They had a million questions, but one of the biggest ones was about Jensen’s whereabouts. From what she explained, Sebastian confirmed he was no longer in the apartment before she destroyed it and everything inside. The guilt of not knowing for sure ate at her. She’d been on bedrest, as recommended by the Silent Brothers, but she finally called and asked Simon to meet her and Rowan at a park so they could all talk. He’d asked why she didn’t want to just talk to them at the Institute, but she wanted him to be close in case things went poorly—she knew Simon could comfort Rowan in a way she doubted she could. 

“Hey, hey,” he said, wiping the tear from her cheek. Jace was still asleep and no one knew when—or if—he was going to wake up. She was distraught because of it, but also from the things she went through with Sebastian, things she refused to elaborate on more than ‘it was terrible’. He could only imagine. “We’ve got this. It’s okay.”

“You didn’t see him, Simon,” she said, her breath uneven. “It was…he was covered in blood, he was so broken, he thought Jace was intentionally doing all this—”

“Who?” a new voice asked, and both Simon and Clary’s heads snapped in the direction of the voice. Rowan, glad in an old, worn sweater, cargo pants, and equally destroyed combat boots, stood there with their hands stuffed in their pockets. Simon had to admit that Clary was clever—it was better they did this conversation at night, when there were less people around. He had a feeling this wasn’t going to go over well. 

“Rowan,” Clary said, her voice sounding like her heart was already breaking. She’d been avoiding them since they all returned to New York, too upset to have this conversation. She untangled herself from Simon, who had her half-wrapped in a supportive hug, and wiped her eyes. He applauded her ability to put herself back together. “I–I need to talk to you—”

“I gathered that from your ‘we need to talk’ text,” Rowan said tightly. They crossed their arms over their chest—they reminded Simon of a cat with its hackles up, prepared to dart off or attack at any moment. “What were you just talking about?”

“It’s about…Jensen,” she said carefully. Her eyes darted to the ground, and even in the moonlight, Simon thought she looked pale. He ran his hand over her back comfortingly. 

Rowan’s eyes widened and they took a step backwards to balance themselves. Their voice cracked as they spoke, “is he dead?”

Clary’s head shot up and she shook her head. “No! No, he’s not…at least, I don't think he is…”

Their eyebrows furrowed. “You have explaining to do. Now. What the hell do you mean you ‘don’t think’ my brother is dead?”

Clary’s breath shuddered and Simon stepped forward. “Rowan, hey. Take a breath. Let her explain—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Simon! My brother was alive the last time I spoke to her, and now we ‘don't think’ he’s dead? I’m tired of people walking on eggshells around me to tell me what I need to know!”

And we’re shouting again, Simon thought, though he kept his comments to himself. To be fair to Rowan, he didn’t know how he’d feel if Rebecca went missing suddenly, or Clary, for that matter. The few days he had no contact with her through the faerie rings was enough to give him a heart attack. They originally had hope for their brother’s situation, but now it had changed. He was gone with no news again. 

Clary, barely holding herself together, kicked at the grass beneath her feet. “Sebastian—Sebastian said he was ‘where he needed to be’,” she said carefully. “I tried to ask for more details, but i–he wouldn’t answer me. I assumed he had left the apartment before…” she hesitated, the words caught in her throat. “Before I destroyed the apartment.”

Something changed in Rowan’s face in that instant. Simon was grateful for his vampire reflexes and speed for once; without them, he never would have stopped Rowan’s charge at Clary. 

“You could have killed him!” they shrieked, trying to pry away from Simon’s grasp. He held them tight against his chest, pinning one arm to their sides and trying to pin the other. “He’s probably dead now! You killed my brother!”

Clary shook her head desperately. “No! Rowan, no—he was gone—”

“You don’t KNOW THAT!” Simon could feel the pressure of their screams in the ringing of his ears and by his arm where their chest rose and fell, heaving for breath. “He’s dead, Clary!”

“Sebastian said he wasn’t!”

“You killed him!” A heart-wrenching sob broke through them and suddenly the efforts to break away from him stopped. Their arm fell to their side and they fell forward, the only thing stopping them from hitting the dirt was him holding them up. Their knees gave out and Simon followed them to the ground as their screams and sobs continued, bringing tears to his eyes for them. He tried to turn them towards him, holding them, doing what he could to comfort them, though he had a feeling it didn’t help. 

He made eye contact with Clary over their head, cradling them to the best of his ability as they bawled into his jacket, gripping him tight. She looked horrified, legs locked and hands covering her mouth. He sighed, leaning his head down to kiss the top of Rowan’s head before turning back to her. Call Alec, he mouthed at her, knowing that this was too much for him to handle at once. There had to be runes, be a spell Magnus could do, something to calm Rowan down, as the longer they cried, the worse they sounded. They were going to pass out hyperventilating if he didn’t do something. 

Clary took a few steps away, and Simon turned his undivided attention to Rowan again. “Hey, listen to me,” he said, brushing his hand over their hair in an attempt to soothe them. “We don’t know what happened. And we’re going to do everything we can to find Jensen.”

His words didn’t seem to help, only set them off worse. He cringed, their screams joined by muffled cries of their brother’s name. He squeezed them tighter, unsure of what else to do than hold them. 

Golden sparks appeared in front of him, slowly appearing in the rough shape of a door. Through it came Alec—on the other side, he could see Magnus, looking terribly pale still, sitting in the library of the Institute. Alec crashed down next to them, muttering something about not understanding what happened. Simon didn’t have the words to explain. 

The second he touched their arm, Rowan lashed out, kicking at him and pushing him away. Alec caught their wrist with ease, following their impulsive attack. “It’s just me,” he said, pushing the sleeve of their sweater up. He grabbed his stele from his pocket and tried to draw a rune, but the second the tip of the stele touched their skin, they shoved away from him again, burying themselves further into Simon. 

“Get away!” they said, their voice muffled in his shoulder. They choked on their words. “Go! I dont—I don’t deserve your help—”

Alec and Simon exchanged a concerned look, one that didn’t take long to decipher. They wouldn’t let Alec anywhere near him and refused to move from Simon, but they couldn’t stay in the park like that forever. Simon was worried they would work themselves into hyperventilating or worse if he didn’t find a way to help them. 

Magnus stepped through the Portal and slowly walked behind Simon. He hovered his hand over Rowan’s head and muttered, “sleep, peanut. It’s okay.”

Blue sparks flew from his hand, falling like snow onto their head. Suddenly, their breath steadied and the cries stopped, and their grip on him slowly loosened. They were asleep, their body heavy against his. 

There was a crunch of leaves behind Alec and Simon looked up to see Clary, her green eyes dark in cold darkness, lined with tears that shone in the moonlight. It was a silent, tense moment, while he waited for someone to break the silence. 

“I told them—I told them about Jensen,” Clary stammered. Magnus reached out, carefully wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I don’t know if he’s alive or not, I’m so sorry, Alec—”

“Don’t apologize,” Alec said, though his attention was clearly not on her. “You did what you could. I…” he trailed off, brushing a piece of hair out of Rowan’s eyes. “I think this was a long time coming.”

Simon cleared his throat. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“You did what you could,” Alec repeated. “Let us get back to the Institute. I’ll keep you updated.”

Simon looked down at Rowan’s tear-stained face and realized they looked peaceful. For once, there was no furrow in their brow or tightness in their mouth that told him they were upset about something. They looked relaxed. He wished he could have held them longer. 

He begrudgingly shifted, allowing Alec to scoop Rowan into his arms. He stood with him, careful to keep his hand beneath their head, just in case they were to fall. Alec, despite what he would have thought, said nothing about it. He knew he was a capable shadowhunter but it didn’t stop his worry for Rowan. 

The movement stirred them slightly. Their eyes fluttered half-open. “Simon?” they asked, their voice hoarse and cracking. 

He kissed the top of their head. “I’m right here. Go back to sleep,” he said, though it pained him to know he wouldn’t be there when they woke up. They had to go back to the Institute and he was stuck on the outside, wishing he could do more to help. 

They nodded and leaned their head against Alec’s shoulder, falling promptly back asleep. He breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he hadn’t agitated them more. “I know I don’t have to ask. Just…please take care of them,” he said and saw in Alec’s face how seriously he took the request. 

“I will,” he said. And with a nod to Magnus, he reopened the portal and the three stepped back through. 

Magnus left it open, his hand extended out to Clary, offering her a free trip back across town to the Institute. She shook her head and stood next to Simon. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” she said. Magnus smiled weakly and the Portal fizzled closed behind them. 

“Clary—”

“I don't think I can talk about it right now, Simon,” she said softly, though her voice was determined. 

He decided not to push her. “All right. Let’s go home.”

[x-ceirios-x]

can someone please give me some writing prompts or an idea or something I may have the worst headache of my life but if I dont do something creative I might go insane

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Why tag characters in huge text posts that have nothing to do with them? 😭

cuz I tag all my stuff with all the shadowhunters main characters? usually several of them are involved idk what to tell you

[x-ceirios-x]

alea iacta est

alea iacta est; the die is cast.

cw: canon typical violence, fight scene

Andy tumbled through the Portal with the rest of the New York Institute, looking over the army of red-robed demonic Shadowhunters. She couldn’t bite back the snicker that arose from her, mirroring Simon’s, when she realized they could no longer use her seraph blades. She muttered the name of hers and gripped it tightly in her hand, prepared for the oncoming onslaught. She was dressed head to toe in gear and completely decked out in weapons—daggers, seraph blades, her collapsible bo staff all decorated her belt and various sheathes pulled tight around her legs and arms. And on her hip, calling for her to use it, was her latest refurbished gadget: James Herondale’s revolver. 

She set out with the group, running ahead with Aline and Helen. Despite the stakes, she had to enjoy the adrenaline of battle. She’d never felt more alive than fighting in the Mortal War alongside Maia, who was there tonight. She tried to keep an eye out for her but the sea of werewolves and Ahadowhunters, Endarkened and seraphic, made that hard. A knife sliced past her arm, pausing her in her tracks, and she whipped around, blade in hand. She recognized the man in red robes, vaguely, maybe from a picture. Maybe he was another friend of Valentine’s she’d seen in old photos her mother had hidden away in the attic. He smiled cruelly, before lunging for her, his blade narrowly missing her throat. She spun and jumped, wrapping her legs around the man’s neck. She landed feet first, cutting off his breath with her legs. Without another thought, she grabbed his knife and drove it through his heart. Blood spattered on her hand and arm. There was no time for pity—Sebastian was going to die and she had to ensure that happened.

From a few feet away, she could see Magnus and Rowan, leading Simon through the brunt of the attack. At all costs, they needed to get to Sebastian at the back of this all. Some leader, she thought, before making for high ground. She saw a familiar face, Alec, and ran to follow him to high ground. 

Her footsteps alerted him and he spun on her, an arrow poised to strike in his hand. She put her hands up quickly. “Easy, tiger,” she said with a smile. 

Alec rolled his eyes and shot the arrow, flying past her head to strike an Endarkened Shadowhunter in the chest. He’d had a knife raised, prepared to strike her from behind, but crashed to the ground instantly. 

She turned back to him and smiled. “Thanks for that.”

His eyes narrowed at her. “You’re welcome. Just watch your back.”

The two continued up the hill and onto the tombs. She observed the battlefield for a moment, crouching next to him for just a moment, looking for a place to break into the battle. She saw Sebastian better from here and wondered if she could run along the side of the army and get to him that way. “Cover me, would you?” she said. “I’m gonna get to Jace if I can—”

She dropped the seraph blades in her hands. The hood of a woman blew back, revealing brown, graying hair and a stony, blood covered expression. Even from this distance, she recognized the woman—her mother. Running towards Simon. 

She nor Alec could move fast enough. The multi-colored magic shooting from Magnus’s hands suddenly stopped as Amatis Herondale plunged a dagger into his chest. Magnus crashed to his knees, and Alec, mid-step and watching the scene unfold before him, fell off the tomb and rolled into the mess. Rowan fell next to Magnus as Amatis reared back, prepared to strike again. 

The world moved in slow motion. Against the Endarkened Shadowhunters, taken by surprise, Simon and Rowan had slim chances of defending themselves or keeping Magnus alive. She heard Alec, despite a red-cloaked man attacking him while he was still on the ground, call out to her. He only said her name, but she knew what he wanted. She had her opening to go after Sebastian, distract him or die trying until Simon got there, but he was pleading with her to save Magnus.  

Like she’d done with target practice a million times, she pulled the gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The sound distracted several people over the sounds of battle, but she didn’t care—she watched the bullet fly through the air and strike her mother in the shoulder. It was the first time, with runed bullets, that the gun fired. It should have been a moment of pride, celebrating the years of work that went into this, but she watched Amatis fall face first into the ground. 

She took off like a bat out of hell, cutting through any Endarkened Shadowhunters that dared get in her way in the rush to Magnus. By the time she got there, Simon had run off, no doubt trying to get to Sebastian. That was the plan from the beginning. Rowan was trying to stop Magnus from bleeding out to little avail, and Amatis turned back to them for round two. 

“What has he done to you?” Andy called over the clanging of swords and cries of the injured. 

“He has made me tougher,” she said, breath heaving as she clutched her arm. “Faster. Better. Join us, Andromeda. You can be stronger than you’d ever dreamed!”

Andy scoffed. “Join you?” she asked. “You know I've never been one to follow orders, Mom.”

She sneered. “You will die tonight.” She rushed towards her, not before Andy could pull the gun again and fire one, two, three bullets at her, walking closer as she did so. All missed, save for the last one, that hit her shoulder and knocked her off balance. It startled her enough for Andy to pull her staff out, narrowly blocking an attack from her mother’s sword swinging for her head. She grunted and dug her feet into the ground, using the training her mother had personally taught her. Amatis attacked again and again, blade flurrying by, leaving Andy barely enough time to defend herself, let alone attack her too. 

“You can fight this!” she insisted, pushing back against her, pleading with her mother. She aimed to hit the bullet wound on her arm, hoping the pain would cripple her without injuring her further. She made solid contact but it didn’t stop her; it was like she didn’t feel pain. “Mom, you’re one of the strongest women I know! Don’t do this!”

Amatis paused, and for a moment, she thought she broke through to her. She saw a flash of the real Amatis, the one who may have struggled to show her affection, but she was still her mother. She wouldn’t hurt her like this. When she looked up, her bloody sword glistening in the moonlight, she wore the same cruel smile as the man Andy killed minutes before. “You are no daughter of mine,” she said, and sprung at her. Andy cried out, feeling the blade slice her knuckles and back of her hand as she put the staff up to block her attack. 

Amatis cackled, and a sinking feeling appeared in Andy’s chest. No longer was she confident, enjoying the adrenaline rush of battle, swinging swords against the ‘bad guys’. She now wondered if she would survive the night. 

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Lost Souls, Chapter 21: Raising Hell

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

"Can you see her?" Jocelyn demanded. "Is she there?"

Simon tried to focus on the milling darkness ahead of him, his vampire senses sharpening at the distinct scent of blood. Different kinds of blood, mixing together—Shadowhunter blood, demon blood, and the bitterness of Sebastian's blood. "I see her," he said. "Jace has hold of her. He's pulling her behind that line of Shadowhunters there."

"If they're loyal to Jonathan like the Circle was to Valentine, they'll make a wall of bodies to protect him, and Clary and Jace along with him." Jocelyn was all cold maternal fury, her green eyes burning. "We're going to have to break through it to get to them."

“We need to get to Sebastian,” said Rowan. “Simon, we’ll make you a path. You get to Sebastian and run him through with that sword. Once he dies—”

"The others will probably scatter," said Magnus. "Or, depending on how tied they are to Sebastian, they might die and collapse along with him. We can hope, at least." He craned his head back. "Speaking of hope, did you see that shot Alec got off with his bow? That's my boyfriend." He beamed and wiggled his fingers; blue sparks shot from them. He shone all over. Only Magnus, Simon thought resignedly, would have access to sequined battle armor. 

Rowan pulled their chakram off of their belt and turned toward Simon, white-knuckled fists on both of them. They were anxious, as much as they were trying to hide it. “Are you ready?”

Simon's shoulders tightened. They were still some distance from the line of the opposing army— he didn't know how else to think of them—who were holding their line in their red robes and gear, their hands bristling with weapons. Some of them were exclaiming out loud in confusion. He couldn't hold back a grin.

“Hell, Simon,” Rowan said exasperatedly. “What are you smiling about?”

"Their seraph blades don't work anymore," said Simon. "They’re trying to figure out why. Sebastian just shouted at them to use other weapons." A cry came up from the line as another arrow swooped down from the tomb and buried itself in the back of a burly red-robed Shadowhunter, who collapsed forward. The line jerked and opened slightly, like a fracture in a wall. Simon, seeing his chance, dashed forward, and the others rushed with him.

It was like diving into a black ocean at night, an ocean, filled with sharks and viciously toothed sea creatures colliding against one another. It was not the first battle Simon had ever been in, but during the Mortal War he had been newly Marked with the Mark of Cain. It hadn't quite begun working yet, though many demons had reeled back upon seeing it. He had never thought he would miss it, but he missed it now, as he tried to shove forward through the tightly packed Shadowhunters, who hacked at him with blades. Rowan was on one side of him, Magnus on the other, protecting him—protecting Glorious. Rowan’s silver knives flew through the air and shone in the moonlight, and Magnus's hands spat fire, red and green and blue. Lashes of colored fire struck the dark Nephilim, burning them where they stood. Other Shadowhunters screamed as Luke's wolves slunk among them, nipping and biting, leaping for their throats.

A dagger shot out with astonishing speed and sliced at Simon's side. He cried out but kept going, knowing the wound would knit itself together in seconds. He pushed forward—and froze. A familiar face was before him. Luke's sister, Amatis. As her eyes settled on him, he saw the recognition in them. What was she doing here? Had she come to fight alongside them? But—

She lunged at him, a darkly gleaming dagger in her hand. She was fast—but not so fast that his vampire reflexes couldn't have saved him, if he hadn't been too astonished to move. Amatis was Luke's sister; he knew her; and that moment of disbelief might have been the end of him if Magnus hadn't jumped in front of him, shoving him backward. Blue fire shot from Magnus's hand, but Amatis was faster than the warlock, too. She spun away from the blaze and under Magnus's arm, and Simon caught the flash of moonlight off the blade of her knife. Magnus's eyes widened in shock as her midnight-colored blade drove downward, slicing through his armor. She jerked it back, the blade now slick with reflective blood; Rowan screamed as Magnus collapsed to his knees. Simon tried to turn toward him, but the surge and pressure of the fighting crowd was carrying him away. He cried out Magnus's name as Amatis bent over the fallen warlock and raised the dagger a second time, aiming for his heart.

Amatis drove a knife toward Magnus’s heart—just as a loud boom sounded over the fighting. Something small, a bullet, Simon realized, flew through the air. He did live in Brooklyn, but he thought Shadowhunters didn't use guns. The bullet slammed into Amatis’s shoulder with such force that she spun halfway around and fell face-forward to the rocky ground. She was screaming, a noise quickly drowned out by the clash of weapons around them. Rowan knelt by Magnus’s side; Simon, glancing up, saw Andy on the stone tomb, standing frozen with a smoking gun in her hand, blond curls blowing in the wind. She looked like a character from a movie—blood staining her face and gear, staring her mother down without an ounce of sympathy.  Rowan had their hands against the warlock’s chest, but Magnus—Magnus, who was always so kinetic, so bursting with energy—was utterly still under their touch. They looked up and saw Simon staring at them; their hands were red with blood, but they shook their head at him violently. 

“Go!” they shouted. “Find Sebastian!”

With a wrench, Simon turned himself around and plunged back into the battle. 

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Lost Souls, Chapter 20: A Door Into The Dark

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

Alec slammed his hand against the button in the small cage elevator, and slumped back against the wall. “How much time do we have?”

Rowan checked the glowing screen of their phone. “Forty minutes. Give or take.”

The elevator lurched upward. Rowan cast a covert glance at Alec. He looked tired—dark circles were under his eyes. Despite his height and strength, Alec, with his blue eyes and soft black hair almost to his collar, looked more delicate than he was. “I’m fine,” he said, answering their unspoken question. “I should be asking you, actually. Isn’t Mom going to kill you for spending so much time away from home? I’m eighteen. I can do what I want.”

“I texted Maryse and told her I was with you and Magnus. She knows I’ve been crashing with him since dad got shipped off to Moscow,” Rowan said as the elevator came to a stop. “It’s not like she didn’t know where I was. How are you two, anyway?”

Alec reached across them and pulled the elevator’s inside cage door open. “What?”

“I don’t know, Alec, you two seem…tense. I may be preoccupied lately but I’m not blind. Kinda hard not to notice when your two best friends are in a spat.”

Alec shot them an incredulous look as he stepped out into the entryway. “Everything’s going to hell in a handbasket and you want to know about my relationship with Magnus.” 

They laughed. It sounded scarily genuine. “Alec, if I don’t think about anything else, I’m going to lose my mind and punch a wall. Or Andy again.”

Alec, who had known Rowan’s occasional temper long enough to know that wasn’t a threat but a likely outcome of the evening, changed the topic. “Magnus and I are okay, I guess.”

“You two get into a fight I didn’t hear about or something?” they asked. 

Alec was tapping his fingers against the wall as they raced along, a sure sign that he was uncomfortable. As was Rowan, evident by them biting at their nails. “Don’t meddle in my love life. If you want to go there, what about Simon? You two obviously like each other.”

They stammered and finally landed on, “Bullshit.”

“You are, actually,” Alec said, sounding as if it surprised him, too, now that he thought about it. He’d never known Rowan to be a romantic—not even when they were dating Jace. It was rare to see them so interested in someone like a normal teenager would be. “The way you freaked out at the lake when the Angel appeared—”

“I thought Simon was dead!”

“What, more dead?” said Alec unkindly. Seeing the expression on their face, he shrugged. “Look, if you like him, fine. I just don’t see why you won’t tell him that.”

“Because he doesn’t like me.”

“Of course he does. He follows you around like a lost puppy. All the time. And I thought he was bad with Clary.”

They shot him a venomous look. “It’s not a good time, all right?”

“Rowan,” Alec said, and now there was a kindness in his voice, the tone they associated with him most often—love and exasperation mixed together. He sounded like the boy that wiped their tears from nightmares and picked up the broken pieces of their heart a few too many times, the boy who called them an idiot for falling in love with someone who would only break their heart but never said I told you so. Now, things were a little different. “When are you going to start believing that not everyone that looks at you is going to think you’re strange?” They opened their mouth to speak but no words came out. His comment affected them more than he thought it would. Nevertheless, he continued. “I won’t tell you I understand all this. I don’t understand how you feel. But someone out there—Simon—is going to love you despite it.” He thought for a moment, then quickly corrected himself. “Not despite it. Including it. You have to let him.”

Rowan stayed silent, their eyes forward, fixated on the carpet beneath their boots. 

They had almost reached the library. Their ears perked up, suddenly, and they put their hand out in front of him. “Listen,” they said, their voice barely above a whisper. Voices were coming from the library, the first one stringent and immediately recognizable as Maryse. 

“What do you mean she’s missing?”

“No one’s seen her in two days,” said another voice—soft, female, and slightly apologetic. “She lives alone, so people weren’t sure—but we thought, since you know her brother—”

Without a pause Alec straight-armed the door of the library open. Rowan ducked past him to see Maryse sitting behind the massive mahogany desk in the center of the room. In front of her stood two familiar figures: Aline Penhallow, dressed in gear, and beside her Helen Blackthorn, her curly hair in disarray. Behind Maryse, just off to the side, stood Andy, who had briefly paused reading something over shoulder. In a chair nearby perched Isabelle, suddenly sitting upright. Everyone turned, looking surprised, as the door opened. Helen, beneath her freckles, was pale; she was also in gear, which drained the color out of her skin even more. Isabelle was in lounge clothes and Andy was in an outfit she would probably wear while training. 

“Rowan,” said Maryse, rising to her feet. “Alexander. What’s happened?” 

Aline reached for Helen’s hand. Silver rings flashed on both their fingers. The Penhallow ring, with its design of mountains, glinted on Helen’s finger, while the intertwined thorn pattern of the Blackthorn family ring adorned Aline’s. Rowan felt their eyebrows go up; exchanging family rings was serious business. Aline started, “If we’re intruding, we can go—”

“No, stay,” Rowan said, striding forward. “We might need you.”

Maryse settled back into her chair. “So,” she said. “My children grace me with their presence. Where have you two been?”

“Magnus’s,” Rowan said, their eyes narrowing. “I told you.”

“Why?” Maryse demanded. “And I'm not asking you, Alexander, I’m asking the child who is in my custody who I havent heard from in two days.”

“The Clave stopped looking for Jace and Jensen,” Rowan said, jumping on the defensive. “I wasn’t giving up that easily.”

“And Magnus was willing to help,” Alec added, trying to diffuse the situation before it got worse. “He’s been up all these nights, searching through spell books, trying to figure out where Jace might be. He even raised the—”

“No.” Maryse put a hand up to silence him. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” The black phone on her desk started to ring. They all stared at it. A black phone call was from Idris. No one moved to answer it, and in a moment it was silent. “Why are you here?” Maryse demanded, turning her attention back to her children. 

“I was looking for my brother—” Rowan started again. 

“It’s the Clave’s job to do that," Maryse snapped. She looked tired, Rowan noticed, the skin stretched thin under her eyes. Lines at the corners of her mouth drew her lips into a frown. She was thin enough that the bones of her wrists seemed to protrude. “Not yours.”

Alec, this time, slammed his hand down on the desk, hard enough to make the drawers rattle. “Would you listen to us? The Clave didn’t find Jace, but we did. And Sebastian right along with him. And now we know what they're planning, and we have—” he glanced at the clock on the wall— “barely any time to stop them. Are you going to help or not?”

The black phone rang again. Again Maryse didn’t even move to answer it. She was looking at Alec, her face white with shock. “You did what?”

“We know where they are, Mom,” said Rowan pleadingly. “Or, where he’s going to be. And what he’s going to do. We know Sebastian's plan and he has to be stopped.”

Rowan and Alec launched into the story, carefully leaving out the parts that might upset her even more. It was a concise explanation, one that left everyone else’s jaws on the floor. Maryse stood very still, her features immobile. When they were done, she said in a hushed voice: 

“Why have you done these things?”

Alec looked taken aback.

“For Jace. And for Jensen,” Rowan said angrily. “For your sons, Maryse, or have you forgotten?”

Isabelle rushed to their side, pulling them back from starting an argument they couldn’t finish. Rowan exchanged a look with her, an angry one, but Isabelle understood. She probably understood better than anyone how Rowan was feeling. She needed them to explain it to Maryse in a way that would make her listen. 

Hurt flashed across Maryse’s face and she turned her undivided attention to Alec. "You realize that by putting me in this position, you give me no choice but to notify the Clave," said Maryse, her hand resting on the black phone. "I wish you hadn't come here." 

Isabelle's mouth went dry. "Are you seriously mad at them for finally telling you what's going on?"

"If I notify the Clave, they will send all their reinforcements. Jia will have no choice but to give them instructions to kill Jace on sight. Do you have any idea how many Shadowhunters Valentine's son has following him?

Alec shook his head. "Maybe forty, it sounds like."

"Say we brought twice as many as that. We could be fairly confident of defeating his forces, but what kind of chance would Jace have? There's almost no certainty he'd make it through alive. They'll kill him just to be sure."

"Then, we can't tell them," said Rowan. "We go ourselves. We can do this without the Clave."

But Maryse, looking at them, was shaking her head. "The Law says we have to tell them."

"I don't care about the Law!" Rowan snapped. They caught sight of Aline looking at them, and, with a silent look, dared her to challenge them.”

"Don't worry," Aline said. "I'm not going to say anything to my mother. I owe you guys. Especially you, Isabelle." She tightened her jaw, and Isabelle remembered the darkness under a bridge in Idris, and her whip tearing into a demon, its claws locked onto Aline. "And besides, Sebastian killed the real Sebastian Verlac. He was family. I have my own reasons to hate him, you know." She shared a confident look with Rowan, only egging them on further.

"Regardless," said Maryse. "If we do not tell them, we will be breaking the Law. We could be sanctioned, or worse."

"Worse?" said Alec. "What are we talking about here? Exile?"

"I don't know, Alexander," said his mother. "It would be up to Jia Penhallow, and whoever wins the Inquisitor's position, to decide our punishment."

"Maybe it'll be Dad," muttered Izzy. "Maybe he'll go easy on us."

“Aunt Jia will understand. I could talk to her—” Rowan began, but Maryse cut them off. 

“You are insinuating your relationship to the Consul will prevent her from sending down a harsh punishment? Really?” she demanded. “Rowan, as clever as you are, you can be incredibly naive.” She addressed them all. “You are all in over your heads. If we fail to notify them of this situation, there is no chance Robert will make Inquisitor. None.”

Isabelle took a deep breath. "Could we get our Marks stripped?" she said. "Could we.. lose the Institute?"

"Isabelle," said Maryse. "We could lose everything.”

[x-ceirios-x]

(Part 4) City of Lost Souls, Chapter 19: Love and Blood

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

(I usually don't put cws on these because its all canon typical violence/language usually, but this is probably one of the worst scenes with Sebastian. warnings under the cut but the worst of it doesn't start for a short while)

cw: Sebastian being Sebastian unfortunately. SA/attempted r/pe, weird incest-y shit ONLY on sebastian's end, it's that arc im sorry. Sebastian literally beating up a teenager, Clary tries to kill Sebastian tho so good for her

Clary dashed down the hallway and hit the steps with a clatter, racing for the downstairs and for the spot on the wall that Jace had told her was the only entrance and exit from the apartment. 

She had no illusions that she could escape. Even if she could, what about Jensen? She had a thought, a brief one, but the guilt pooled in her stomach at the thought. She heard Sebastian’s boots loud on the glass staircase behind her, and put on a burst of speed, almost slamming into the wall. His presence convinced her; she knew what she had to do. She jammed the stele into it, point-first, drawing frantically: a pattern as simple as a cross, new to the world—

Sebastian’s fist closed on the back of her jacket, jerking her backward, the stele flying out of her hand. She gasped as he swung her up off her feet and slammed her into the wall, knocking the breath out of her. He glanced at the mark she had made on the wall, and his lips curled into a sneer. 

“The Opening rune?” he said. He leaned forward and hissed into her ear. “And you didn’t even finish it. Not that it matters. Do you really think there’s a place on this earth you could go where I couldn’t find you?”

Clary responded with an epithet that would have gotten her kicked out of class at St. Xavier’s. Just as he started to laugh, she raised her hand and slapped him across the face so hard, her fingers stung. In his surprise he loosened her grip on her, and she jerked away from him and flipped herself over the table, making for the downstairs bedroom, which at least had a lock on the door—

And he was in front of her, grabbing the lapels of her jacket and swinging her around. Her feet went out from under her, and she would have fallen if he hadn’t pinned her to the wall with his body, his arms to either side, making a cage around her. 

His grin was diabolical. Gone was the stylish boy who’d strolled by the Seine with her and drunk got chocolate and talked about belonging. His eyes were all black, no pupil, like tunnels. “What’s wrong, little sis? You look upset.”

She could barely catch her breath. “Cracked…my…nail polish…slapping your…worthless face. See?” she showed him her finger—just one of them. 

“Cute.” He snorted. “You know how I knew you’d betray us? How I knew you wouldn’t be able to help it? Because you’re too much like me.” 

He pressed her back harder against the wall. She could feel his chest rise and fall against hers. She was at eye level with the straight, sharp line of his collarbone. His body felt like a prison around hers, pinning her in place. “I’m nothing like you. Let me go—”

“You’re everything like me,” he growled into her ear. “You infiltrated us. You faked friendship, faked caring.”

“I never had to fake caring about Jace.”

She saw something flash in his eyes then, a dark jealousy, and she wasn’t even sure who he was jealous of. He put his lips against her cheek, close enough that she felt them move against her skin when he spoke. “You screwed us over,” he murmured. His hand was around her left arm like a vise; slowly he began to move it down. “Probably literally screwed Jace over—”

She couldn't help it, she flinched. She felt him inhale sharply. "You did," he said. "You slept with him." He sounded almost betrayed.

"It's none of your business."

He caught at her face, turning her to look at him, fingers digging into her chin. "You can't screw someone into being good. Nicely heartless move, though." His lovely mouth curved into a cold smile. "You know he doesn't remember any of it, right? Did he show you a good time, at least? Because I would have."

She tasted bile in her throat. "You're my brother."

"Those words don't mean anything where we're concerned

We aren't human. Their rules don't apply to us. Stupid laws about what DNA can be mixed with what. Hypocritical, really, considering. We're already experiments. The rulers of ancient Egypt used to marry their siblings, you know. Cleopatra married her brother. Strengthens the bloodline."

She looked at him with loathing. "I knew you were crazy," she said. "But I didn't realize you were absolutely, spectacularly out of your goddamned mind."

"Oh, I don't think there's anything crazy about it. Who do we belong with but each other?"

"Jace," she said. "I belong with Jace."

He made a dismissive noise. "You can have Jace."

"I thought you needed him."

"I do. But not for what you need him for." His hands were suddenly on her waist. "We can share him. I don't care what you do. As long as you know you belong to me."

She raised her hands, meaning to shove him away. "I don't belong to you. I belong to me."

The look in his eyes froze her in place. "I think you know better than that," he said, and brought his mouth down on hers, hard.

For a moment she was back in Idris, standing in front of the burned Fairchild manor, and Sebastian was kissing her, and she felt as if she were falling into darkness, into a tunnel that had no end. At the time she'd thought there was something wrong with her. That she couldn't kiss anyone but Jace. That she was broken.

With a muffled noise of frustration, Sebastian fell into her, something knocking him off balance. He narrowly avoided hitting his head against hers, instead, knocking his forehead into the wall. He’d been pushed—no, hit—by something. 

Someone. Clary stared as Jensen stood there, her stele in hand, breath heaving. There was blood running down his face, pouring from a gash above his eye, the area around it already beginning to bruise. His chest heaved and, to her, he looked like he was about to pass out, but there was blood on the tip of the stele. He’d managed to hit Sebastian. 

He was halfway through an iratze on his opposite arm when Sebastian turned around, grabbing the boy by the throat. He entirely ignored Clary, spinning on his heel to run after his latest assailant. 

“I thought I told you,” Sebastian said over Jensen’s yelp of pain and struggling to breathe, “to stay put?” He pried the stele out of the boy’s hand and held it in front of his face. “I healed you enough. You won’t bleed out with those wounds. Would you rather reopen them? Bleed out right here? You’re not pathetic enough for that kind of death.”

Clary’s legs started working again and she pulled herself from her shock, lunging for Sebastian. He put out a hand to stop her, catching her face and holding her an arm’s reach away. She swiped at him, attempting to hit him, but she couldn’t reach. He swung her around like he was swinging a baseball bat and flung her at the wall. She hit it hard and sank to her knees, the breath knocked out of her.

“You just had to get in the way, didn’t you?” he demanded. He dropped the boy by the neck, instead grabbing his hair and dragging him to the staircase. Jensen cried out. “Didn’t you?” 

“Clary–!” Jensen called, choking on air as it rushed into his lungs. His dull green eyes connected with hers. “Run!” 

Sebastian snarled and threw the boy into the stairs, knocking his head against the stairway. His limp, unconscious body clattered to the floor at his feet, laying in a haphazard ball. She gasped and winced. 

Sebastian started toward her, his hands flexing at his sides, his eyes shimmering black like a shark's. He looked terrifying; Clary knew she ought to be frightened, but a cold, glassy detachment had come over her. Time seemed to have slowed.

She remembered the fight in the junk shop in Prague, how she had disappeared into her own world where each movement was as precise as the movement of a watch. Sebastian reached down toward her, and she pushed up, off the ground, sweeping her legs sideways, knocking his feet out from under him.

He fell forward, and she rolled out of the way, bouncing to her feet. She didn't bother trying to run this time. Instead she grabbed the porcelain vase off the table and, as Sebastian rose to his feet, swung it at his head. It shattered, spraying water and leaves, and he staggered back, blood blooming against his white-silver hair.

He snarled and sprang at her. It was like being slammed by a wrecking ball. Clary flew backward, smashing through the glass tabletop, and hit the ground in an explosion of shards and agony. She screamed as Sebastian landed on top of her, driving her body down into the shattered glass, his lips drawn back in a snarl. He brought his arm down backhanded and cracked her across the face. Blood blinded her; she choked on the taste of it in her mouth, and its salt stung her eyes. She jerked up her knee, catching him in the stomach, but it was like kicking a wall. He grabbed her hands, forcing them down by her sides.

"Clary, Clary, Clary," he said. He was gasping. At least she'd winded him. Blood ran in a slow trickle from a gash on the side of his head, staining his hair scarlet. "Not bad. You weren't much of a fighter back in Idris."

"Get off me-

He moved his face close to hers. His tongue darted out. She tried to jerk away but couldn't move fast enough as he licked the blood off the side of her face, and grinned. The grin split his lip, and more blood ran in a trickle down his chin. "You asked me who I belong to," he whispered. "I belong to you.

Your blood is my blood, your bones my bones. The first time you saw me, I looked familiar, didn't I? Just like you looked familiar to me."

She gaped at him. "You're out of your mind."

"It's in the Bible," he said. "The Song of Solomon. Thou hast ravished my heart, my sister, my spouse; thou hast ravished my heart with one of thine eyes, with one chain of thy neck.' His fingers brushed her throat, looping into the chain there, the chain that had held the Morgenstern ring. She wondered if he would crush her windpipe. "I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love." His blood dripped onto her face. She held herself still, her body humming with the effort, as his hand slipped from her throat, along her side, to her waist. His fingers slid inside the waistband of her jeans. His skin was hot, burning; she could feel that he wanted her.

"You don't love me," she said. Her voice was thin; he was crushing the air from her lungs. She remembered what her mother had said, that every emotion Sebastian showed was a pretense. Her thoughts were clear as crystal; she silently thanked the battle euphoria for doing what it had to do and keeping her focused while Sebastian sickened her with his touch.

"And you don't care that I'm your brother," he said. "I know how you felt about Jace, even when you thought he was your brother. You can't lie to me."

"Jace is better than you."

"No one's better than me." He grinned, all white teeth and blood. "’A garden enclosed is my sister’," he said. "’A spring shut up, a fountain sealed.' But not anymore, right? Jace took care of that." He fumbled at the button on her jeans, and she took advantage of his distraction to seize up a good-size triangular piece of glass from the ground and slam the jagged edge of it into his shoulder.

The glass slid along her fingers, slicing them open. He yelled, jerking back, but more in surprise than pain; the gear protected him. She slashed the glass down harder, this time into his thigh, and when he reared back, she drove her other elbow into his throat. He went sideways, choking, and she rolled, pinning him under her as she yanked the bloody glass free of his leg. She drove the shard down toward the pulsing vein in his neck-and stopped.

He was laughing. He lay under her, and he was laughing, his laughter vibrating up through her own body. His skin was spattered with blood—her blood, dripping down on him, his own blood where she had cut him, his silver-white hair matted with it. He let his arms fall to either side of him, outstretched like wings, a broken angel, fallen out of the sky.

He said, "Kill me, little sister. Kill me, and you kill Jace, too."

She brought the glass shard down.

[x-ceirios-x]

(Part 3) City of Lost Souls, Chapter 19: Love and Blood

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

Magnus jerked the wheel to the side so fast that the tires screeched. They bumped onto the shoulder of the road, under the shadow of a copse of partly leafless trees. 

The next thing Simon knew, the doors were open and everyone was tumbling out onto the blacktop. The sun was going down, and the headlights of the truck were on, lighting them all with an eerie glow. 

“All right, vampire boy,” said Magnus, shaking his head hard enough to shed glitter. “What the hell is going on?”

Alec leaned against the truck as Simon explained, repairing the conversation with Clary as accurately as he could before the whole thing flew out of his head. 

“Did she say anything about getting her and Jace out of here?” Alec asked when he was done, his face pale in the yellowish glow from the headlights. 

“No,” said Simon. “And—I don’t think Jace wants to get out. He wants to be where he is.”

“What’s this Seventh Sacred Site business, then?” he demanded. “I know about the seven wonders of the world, but seven sacred sites?”

“They’re more in the interest of warlocks than Nephilim,” Magnus said. “Each is a place where ley lines converge, forming a matrix—a sort of net within which magical spells are amplified. The seventh is a stone tomb in Ireland, at Poll na mBrón: the name means ‘the cavern of sorrows’. It’s in a very bleak, uninhabited area called the Burren. A good place to raise a demon, if it's a big one.” He tugged at a spike of hair. “This is bad. Really bad.”

Rowan, silent and death-glaring a pebble on the road until now, finally spoke up. “Did she say anything about Jensen?”

Simon hesitated. In the brief second, he watched their eyes widen and face tighten. Guilt pooled in his stomach for making them worry but he wasn’t sure the truth would ease them at all. “He’s alive,” he said quickly, taking a few steps forward, racing to take their hand. He squeezed it tight, which they reciprocated. “He’s in bad shape, but he’s alive.”

Rowan sighed in relief—the first one he’d seen since their brother disappeared. “I’ll kill the bastard,” they said, their tone growing hard and angry. “I swear it, I will.”

“I think there’s a line,” Simon said, stepping to the side to look at Magnus. His hand never left Rowan’s. “Do you think he can do it? Make dark Shadowhunters?”

“Everything has an alliance, Simon. The alliance of the Nephilim is seraphic, but if it were demonic, they’d still be as strong, as powerful as they are now. But they would be dedicated to the eradication of mankind instead of its salvation.”

“We have to get there,” Rowan said. They stared past him, looking at Magnus. A fog clouded their eyes, one that Simon recognized as focus. Sheer focus on the goal ahead, one that would let them stop at nothing to kill Sebastian. The hair on the back of his neck raised. “We have to stop them. We need to get my brother back.”

“Him, you mean. We need to stop him,” Alec said. “Sebastian.”

“Jace is his ally now, Alec, you have to accept that,” they said, their voice cold and harsh. They pulled away from Simon and took a step forward.

A light, misty drizzle had begun to fall. The drops gleamed like gold in the headlights’ glow. Magnus spoke tightly. “Ireland is five hours ahead. They’re doing the ceremony at midnight. It’s five o’clock here. That means we have an hour and a half—maybe two, at most—to stop them.”

“Then we need to get moving,” they said, anger rising in their voice. “If we’re going to stop him—”

“Rowan, there are only four of us,” Alec said. “We don't even know what kind of numbers were up against—”

“I don’t care!” they shouted, their breath heaving. Simon, a few steps behind them, cringed at the sudden noise. “My brother is alive, Alec, and I have a chance to save him!”

“Not if you get yourself killed first!” Despite Alec and Rowan being the level-headed Lightwoods, Simon had noticed they did get into quite the fights. “I’m not letting you run off on some suicide mission to chance saving Jensen if it means that you’ll both probably end up dead!”

Simon glanced at Magnus, who was watching Alec and Rowan argue with a peculiarly detached expression. “Magnus,” Simon said. “Why didn’t we just Portal to the farm? You Portaled half of Idris to Brocelind Plain.”

“I wanted to give you enough time to change your mind,” said Magnus, not taking his eyes off of his boyfriend.

“But we can Portal from here,” Simon said. “I mean, you could do that for us.”

“Yeah,” Magnus said. “But like Alec says, we don’t know what we’re up against in terms of numbers. I’m a pretty powerful warlock, but Johnathan Morgenstern is no ordinary Shadowhunter, and neither is Jace, for that matter. And if they succeed in raising Lilith—she’ll be a lot weaker than she was, but she’s still Lilith.”

“But she’s dead,” said Simon. “The Mark killed her.”

“Greater Demons don’t die,” said Magnus. “You…scattered her between worlds. It will take a long time for her to reform and she will be weak for years. Unless Sebastian calls her up again.” He pushed a hand through his wet, spiked hair. 

“We have the sword,” Rowan said. “We can kill Sebastian. We have Magnus, and Simon—”

“We don’t even know if the sword will work,” said Alec. “And it won’t do us much good if we can’t get to Sebastian. And Simon isn’t even Mr. Indestructible anymore. He can be killed just like the rest of us.”

They all looked at Simon, Rowan’s eyes boring into him like they just realized the Mark was gone; they just realized he could be killed. He could be killed and the thought shocked them to their core. “We have to try,” he said, looking at Rowan. “Look—we don’t know how many are going to be there, no. We have a little time. Not a lot, but enough—if we Portal—to grab some reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements from where?” Rowan demanded. 

“I’ll go to Maia back at the apartment,” said simon, his mind quickly ticking over possibilities. “See if Jordan can get any assistance from the Praetor Lupus. Magnus, go to the downtown police station, see about enlisting whatever members of the pack are around. Rowan and Alec—”

“You’re splitting us up?” Rowan demanded, their voice angering quickly. They grabbed his arm, shaking him slightly, as if to dissuade him from such a thought. “What about fire-messages, or—”

“No one’s going to trust a fire-message about something like this. Maybe not even Isabelle,” said Magnus. “And besides, fire-messages are for Shadowhunters. Do you really want to communicate this information to the Clave via fire-message instead of going to the Institute yourself?”

“Fine.” Rowan dropped Simon’s arm and stalked around to the side of the car. They yanked the door open, but didn’t get inside: instead, they reached in and drew out Glorious. It shone in the dim light like a bolt of dark lightning,the words carved on the blade flickering in the car light: Quis ut Deus? 

The rain was starting to paste Rowan’s black hair to their forehead. They looked formidable as they walked back to rejoin the group. “Then we leave the car here. We split up, but we meet back at the Institute in an hour. That’s when we leave, whoever we have with us.” They met each of their companion’s eyes, one by one, daring them to challenge. “Simon, take this.”

They held out Glorious to him, hilt-forward.

“Me?” Simon was startled. “But I don’t—I haven't really used a sword before.”

“You called it down,” they said, their blue eyes icy in the rain. “The angel gave it to you, Simon, and you will be the one that carries it.”

[x-ceirios-x]

(Part 2) City of Lost Souls, Chapter 19: Love and Blood

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

“So,” Sebastian said, filling the doorway as he looked down at Clary. “Would it be deja vu if I asked you what you were doing in my room, little sister?”

Clary swallowed against her suddenly dry throat. The light in the hallway was bright behind Sebastian, turning him into a silhouette. She couldn't see the expression on his face. 

“Though, it’s not perfect,” he said. “We have company we didn’t have before.”

Slowly, Clary turned her head, seeing Jensen still standing against the closet doorway. He was pale, green eyes wide with fear. The boy looked like a ghost standing there, facing the man that had tortured him and killed his best friend. 

Sebastian walked into the room—sauntered, really, as if he knew something she didn’t. Something no one else knew. His calm, evil smile unnerved her. “So, what were you looking for in here when you happened to find this brat?”

The gold ring on her finger blazed, like a signal fire. She tried to hide her hand behind her back, but he was too quick, snatching her wrist. “Tricky, tricky,” he said, his grip on her tight and sturdy. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize faerie work? Do you think the queen is such a fool that she would send you off to retrieve these for her without knowing you would keep them for yourself? She wanted you to bring these here, where I would find it.” He jerked the ring off her finger with a smirk.

“You’ve been in contact with the queen?” Clary demanded. “How?”

“With this ring,” Sebastian purred, and Clay remembered the Queen saying In her high sweet voice, Johnathan Morgenstern could be a powerful ally.The Fair Folk are an old people, we do not make hasty decisions but wait to see in what direction the wind blows first. “Do you really think she’d let you get your hands on something that would let you communicate with your little friends without her being able to listen in? Since I took it from you, I've spoken to her, she’s spoken to me—you were a fool to trust her, little sister. She likes to be on the winning side of things, the Seelie queen. And that side will be ours, Clary. Ours.” His voice was low and soft. “Forget them, your Shadowhunter friends. Your place is with us. With me. Your blood cries out for power, like mine does. Whatever your mother may have done to twist your conscience, you know who you are.”

“No!” Jensen called from the corner of the room. He stood up a little straighter, clutching his ribs on one side, and Clary could see the matted blood in his hair on the opposite one. “Clary, you can’t listen to him!”

Sebastian was on him in an instant, his hand tangled in the boy’s hair and pulling hard. Jensen fought back, scratching out at him with one arm, the other trying to pry Sebastian’s hand off of him. He kicked out at him, landing a solid kick in the center of Sebastian’s stomach, winding him. 

“Clary, go!” Jensen screamed through the pain of Sebastian’s nails digging into his head and the pulling of his hair. She was torn—she could try to save him and risk both their lives, or escape with a greater chance of saving her own. She looked around frantically, and her eyes landed on a lamp on the desk nearby. While he was distracted with Jensen, she grabbed it and ripped the cord from the wall. She took a moment to steady herself, exhaled, and threw it as hard as she could at Sebastian. It connected with the back of his head and he crumpled, not before shoving Jensen back inside the closet. Sebastian fell against the door, breathing heavily. She could hear Jensen pounding on the closet door but there was no way for her to get to him. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Then, she ran.

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Lost Souls, Chapter 19: Love and Blood

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

The moment Sebastian was gone, Clary reached for one of Jace’s leather jackets. She slipped it on, taking comfort in the warmth and the familiar smell of him. She slid her feet into shoes and crept out into the hallway, wishing for a stele and a new Soundless rune. She could hear water running downstairs and Sebastian’s off-key whistling, but her own footsteps still sounded like cannon explosions in her ears. She crept along, keeping close to the wall, until she reached Sebastian’s door and slid inside. 

It was dim, the only illumination the ambient city light coming from the windows, whose curtains were pulled back. It was a mess, just as it had been the first time she’d been in it. She started with his closet, stuffed full of expensive clothes—silk shirts, leather jackets, Armani suits, Bruno Magli shoes. On the floor of the closet was a white shirt, wadded up and stained with blood—blood old enough to have died to brown. Clary looked at it for a moment and shut the closet door. 

She set herself to the desk next, pulling out drawers, rifling through papers. She'd rather hoped for something simple, like a lined piece of notebook paper with My Evil Plan written across the top, but no luck. There were dozens of papers with complex numerical and alchemical figuring on them, and even a piece of stationery that began My beautiful one in Sebastian’s cramped handwriting. She spared a moment to wonder who on earth Sebastian’s beautiful one could be—she hadn’t thought of him as someone who ever had romantic feelings about anyone—before turning to the nightstand by his bed. 

She pulled open the drawer. Inside was a stack of notes. On top of them, something glimmered. Something circular and metallic. 

Her faerie ring. 

She took it and placed it on her finger, wanting to contact Simon as quickly as possible. He was probably worried sick. Simon? she tried, to no answer. She cursed under her breath and decided to try again when something broke her focus. 

Somewhere behind her, she swore she heard someone cough. 

Clary whirled around to face the rest of the room to see no one there. Strange, she thought, and was about to make for the door when she heard it again. A muffled cough. 

“Hello?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. What was there? Who was there? She heard it again. Finally, she found the source of the noise as her eyes trained on the wall next to her, the same wall as Sebastian’s closet. Slowly, a glamor began to peel itself away. It was a strong one—enough that she barely caught sight of the doorknob before it tried to fix itself and block her from seeing it. She raced for the door and threw it open. 

The small room, if she could even call it that, was the same size as the closet next to it, no doubt sharing a wall. The ceiling was the same height and it held the same, emerald green wallpaper. It could have been another closet, she figured, if someone would have been sharing a room with him. It was the master suite, after all. Rather than full of expensive clothes, however, she was met with the sight of something—someone, curled up on the floor, their head in their hands. He had reddish brown, mousy curls, matted with blood, as was the child’s clothes. It had to be a child, she realized, and gasped. 

She crashed to her knees and gently touched the boy’s shoulder. He rolled, ever so slowly, and she saw him wince as his face turned toward her. 

“Jensen,” she said, brushing a bit of hair out of his eyes. He was thin, terribly thin like he was barely fed, and had small cuts and scrapes on his face that looked to be healing slowly. She let out a shuddering breath. 

He blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the light, “Clary?” He asked, his voice hoarse like he’d been screaming. She wondered if Sebastian had been torturing him and how so. 

“Oh, oh my God, you’re alive,” she said, all of the air expelling from her lungs as she leaned down to hug him. She’d only met Jensen a few times, but she understood how integral he was to the New York Institute and the family there. She understood Rowan’s desperation in looking for their brother, and even Alec and Isabelle’s. She understood Maryse’s grief in losing not only one child but then two disappearing suddenly. He sucked air through his teeth and whimpered in pain. She pulled off of him immediately. “I–I've been here for days, I’m so sorry I didn’t find you sooner—”

“Sebastian,” he said, slowly beginning to sit up. She wished for a stele again, wanting to heal his injuries. She remembered the first day they’d met when she was going to find Jace in the Silent City with Alec, Isabelle, and Rowan. He’d applied runes on each of them in preparation for the mission—the mission he’d begged to go on, but was told that he was too young. Was he too young now? He’ll be one hell of a Shadowhunter, Isabelle had said. I guarantee it. Shadowhunters were soldiers, Sue, but he was just a boy. He didn’t deserve all this. Her hands shook as she brushed hair from his eyes delicately.

“What about him?” she said, offering her hand to help him stand. He started to, though he leaned on her heavily. She wondered when the last time he’d even stood was. 

“You have to stop him, Clary,” he said. “He’s planning something terrible, I heard him talking to Jace about it. Jace–he’s evil, Clary, you don't understand—”

“Hey, hey,” she said, catching his face gently in her hand. She helped keep him upright with the other. “Jace has a rune. A demonic one that keeps him connected to Sebastian. He’s not evil, he’s doing whatever Sebastian wants him to.”

“Jace is being mind controlled?” he asked incredulously. 

They reached the doorway of the closet together and he shifted his weight to lean against the trim. This had to all be overwhelming for him. Clary saw him in the better light now. The hollows of his cheeks were deep and she could see veins in his neck and arms, along with the bruises and scrapes that littered the visible skin. His clothes were torn and tattered and he smelled overwhelmingly like blood. She wondered what Sebastian had done to him, and what injuries she couldn’t see. She needed to talk to Simon, to make sure he knew Jensen was alive, and to tell him everything Jace had told her about this ceremony. They had to know Sebastian’s plan, and Rowan had to know their brother was still breathing.

“I have to talk to Simon,” she said, fidgeting with the ring on her finger. “He needs to know what’s going on. But I promise, I’ll explain everything as soon as we get out of here, okay?”

He nodded stiffly. She turned and, in her mind, reached out to Simon again. 

[x-ceirios-x]

(Part 2) City of Lost Souls, Chapter 18: Raziel

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

The light faded slowly, ebbing like the tide. He rolled onto his back, staring up, his head still aching. The black clouds were beginning to roll back, showing a widening strip of blue; the Angel was gone, the lake surging under the growing like as if the water were boiling. 

Simon began to sit up slowly, his eyes squinted painfully against the sun. He could see someone racing down the path from the farmhouse to the like. A dark figure, in baggy black clothes, their boots kicking up puffs of sand behind them as they hit the end of the path and leapt to the lakeside. They reached him and he fell, immediately, onto his back from the sheer force of their embrace. “Simon,” they gasped. 

He could feel the strong, steady beat of Rowan’s heart. 

They sat up, holding his face in their hands, inspecting him for injuries as they spoke. “I thought you were dead,” they gasped. “I saw you fall, and—I thought you were dead.” They rushed forward and hugged him again.

Simon let them hold him, propping himself up on one of his hands, holding them with the other. He realized he was listing like a ship with a hole in the side and tried not to move. He was afraid that if he did, he would fall over. “I am dead.”

They glared at him. “Don’t be an asshole. You knew what I meant.”

“Ro.” He raised his face to theirs. They were kneeling over him, their legs around his, their arms around his neck. It looked uncomfortable. He let himself fall back into the sand, taking them with him. He thumped down onto his back in the cold sand with them on top of him and stared into their icy blue eyes, reflecting the moonlight coming from the lake. He could see the dusting of freckles that surrounded their eyes, fading with the lack of sun in recent months, and their unkempt hair that never seemed to agree with what they tried to do with it. 

They touched his forehead in wonder, brushing a bit of hair away from his eyes. “Your Mark is gone.”

“Raziel took it away. In exchange for the sword.” He gestured to the blade. Up at the farmhouse, he could see two dark specks standing in front of the porch, watching them. Alec and Magnus. He would have blushed if he could but, to his surprise, Rowan didn’t seem to mind the compromising position. “It’s the Archangel Michael’s sword. It’s called Glorious.”

“Simon…” They held his face in their hand, cupping his cheek. “You did it. You got the sword.”

Magnus and Alec had started down the path to the lake. Simon closed his eyes, exhausted. They clamored off of him, careful not to bump him, and sat next to his shoulder. Just like usual, they took his hand and began to play with his fingers. When did that become usual? “I can’t believe you did it,” they said, just above a whisper. 

Simon linked his fingers with theirs and squeezed their hand. He felt as if he were floating on a dark river, the shadows closing in around him. Only Rowan anchored him to earth. “I know.”

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Lost Souls, Chapter 18: Raziel

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

Simon stood up from his place resting in the grass and brushed off his jeans, then led the way down to the wandering path through the orchard. As he and Rowan neared it, Simon could see the old dock sticking out into the water, where he, Clary, and Luke had once tied up kayaks before a big piece of the dock had broken off and drifted away. He thought he could almost hear the lazy hum of bees and feel the weight of summer on his shoulders. As they reached the lake’s edge, he twisted around and looked up at the farmhouse, white-painted clapboard with green shutters and an old covered sun porch with tired white-wicker furniture on it. 

“I can tell you liked it here,” they said carefully. They hadn’t spoken to him since the car ride, other than to tell him it was time. Magnus was prepared to raise an angel. 

“Can you?” 

“Your expression,” they said. “You look happy. Like this was a happy place for you.”

“It was. It is,” Simon said. He reached up to push his glasses up his nose, remembered he no longer wore them, and lowered his hand. “I was lucky.”

They looked down at the lake. Their hair was getting longer, he noticed, longer than it was when they first met. A single, loose curl hung to the side of their hair, refusing to follow the path everything else did. It tangled in their earring, a bar that cut straight across the top of their ear. He wanted to reach over and fix it for them, to put it carefully back in place. 

“Hey,” he said suddenly, cutting through the silence. He took a step forward to stand next to them. “About the conversation in the car—”

“Now’s not the time—”

“It’s never the time,” he said, more desperation in his voice than he would have liked. He consciously took a breath to steady himself, a habit he didn’t need as a vampire but never broke. “Let me say this. Please.”

They turned, albeit slowly, towards him and said nothing. This was the time he’d been waiting for. Weeks of waiting, wondering, hoping they would feel the same way…

“In case I don't make it out of this—”

“Don’t talk like that.” 

“Listen, Rowan. Please,” he said. He grabbed their hands and held them tight. “I know you. I know you’re strong, you’re capable, and you’re everything that Team Good needs to work our way out of this. And I know that the opinion of a few arrogant Clave people, or even your family—it’s not going to stop you from being exactly who you are.”

They stared blankly at him, their eyebrows raised in surprise. He had so much more he wanted to say, he needed to say, but the words died on his tongue. I like who you are, he wanted to say. You deserve so much more than I can give you, than what the world can give you, but I hope it’s enough for you.

“You’re coming back,” they said, giving little acknowledgement to what he said, though he knew they heard it. “I know you’re coming back to me.”

“Rowan, I–” he hesitated. It was now or never. “I lo–”

“All right,” Magnus called out. “I’m done. Simon, over here.”

They turned. Simon was standing inside the circle, which was glowing with a faint white light. It was really two circles, a slightly smaller one inside a larger one, and in the space between the circles, a dozen symbols had been scrawled. They, too, glowned, a steely blue-white like the reflection off the lake. 

Simon heard Rowan’s soft intake of breath, and he stepped away before he could look at them. It would make it all harder. He could have stayed, finished the words he’d been dying to tell them, but he couldn’t. His focus, and confidence, had to go towards this or he’d never survive.  

He moved forward, over the border of the circle, into its center, beside Magnus. Looking out from the center of the circle was like looking through water. The rest of the world seemed wavering and indistinct. 

“Here.” Magnus shoved the book into his hands. The paper was thin, covered in scrawled runes, but Magnus had taped a printout of the words, spelled out phonetically, over the incantation itself. “Just sound these out,” he muttered. “It should work.”

Holding the book against his chest, Simon slipped off the gold ring that connected him to Clary, and handed it to Magnus. “If it doesn’t,” he said, wondering where his strange calm was coming from, “someone should take this. It’s our only link to Clary, and what she knows.”

Magnus nodded and slid the ring onto his finger. “Ready, Simon?”

“Hey,” said Simon. “You remembered my name.”

Magnus shot him an unreadable glance from his green-gold eyes, and stepped outside the circle. Immediately he was blurry and indistinct too. Alec joined him on one side, Rowan on the other; Rowan was fidgeting with their ring, and even through wavering air Simon could tell how unhappy they looked. 

Simon cleared his throat. “I guess you guys had better go.”

But they didn’t move. They seemed to be waiting for him to say something else.”

“Thanks for coming here with me,” he said finally, having racked his brain for something meaningful to say; they seemed to be expecting it. He wasn’t the sort who made big farewell speeches or big, dramatic good-byes. He looked at Alec first. “Um, Alec. I always liked you better than I liked Jace.” He turned to Magnus. “Magnus, I wish I had the nerve to wear the kind of pants you do.”

And last, Rowan. He would see them watching him through the haze, their eyes partially covered by a sheet of dark, curly hair hanging over their forehead. 

“Rowan,” said Simon. He looked at them. He saw the questioning in their eyes, but there seemed nothing he could say in front of Alec and Magnus, nothing that would encompass what he felt. He knew what he wanted to say earlier, what he’d wanted to say for a long time. I love you.

He moved back, towards the center of the circle, bowing his head. “Good-bye, I guess.”

He thought they spoke back to him, but the wavering haze between them blurred their words.he watched as they turned, retreating up the path through the orchard, back towards the house, until they had become dark specks. Until he could no longer see them at all. 

He couldn’t quite fathom not talking to Clary one last time before he died—he couldn’t even remember the last words they’d exchanged. And yet if he closed his eyes, he could hear her laughter drifting over the orchard; he could remember what it had been like, before they had grown up and everything had changed. If he died here, perhaps it would be appropriate. Some of his best memories were here after all. If the angel struck him down with fire, his ashes could sit through the apple orchard and over the lake.Something about the idea seemed peaceful. 

He thought of Rowan. Then of his family—his mother, his father, and Becky. Clary, he thought lastly. Wherever you are, you're my best friend. You’ll always be my best friend.

He raised the spell book and began to chant. 

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Lost Souls, Chapter 17: Valediction

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

“Do we have to keep listening to this wail-ey music?” Rowan grumbled, their arms crossed tightly across their chest. 

“I happen to like this wail-ey music, peanut, and since I’m driving, I get to choose, Magnus said loftily. He was indeed driving. Simon had been surprised that he knew how, though he wasn’t sure why. Magnus had been alive for ages. Surely he had found time to squeeze in a few weeks of driver’s ed. Although Simon couldn’t help but wonder what birthdate was on his license. 

Rowan rolled their eyes, probably because there wasn't enough room to do much else in the cab of Jordan’s truck, with all four of them crammed together in the bench seat. He hadn’t expected them to come initially. He hadn’t expected anyone to come to the farm with him besides Magnus, though Alec had insisted on coming as well (much to Magnus’s annoyance, as he considered the whole enterprise “too dangerous”). He tried the same argument on Rowan, to little avail. They both still seemed upset over their earlier spat. They must have struck a nerve in him. Once Alec pushed enough to come, Rowan announced they would as well, despite Simon agreeing with Magnus on how dangerous this was going to be.

And that was that. No one could budge or dissuade them. They wouldn’t look at Simon while they insisted or explain why they wanted to, but there they were. They were wearing black cargo pants and a thick, ratty sweater that looked a little too big for them. He could feel a sheathed dagger from their weapons belt poking his leg, as he was crammed between them and the door. 

“What is this, anyway?” Alec said, frowning at the CD player, which was playing music, although without a CD in it. Magnus had simply tapped the sound system with a blue flashing finger, and it had started playing. “Some faerie band?”

Magnus didn’t answer, but the music swelled louder.

To mirror went she straightaway And did her ebon hair array And for her gown she much did pay Then down she walked along the street A handsome lad she changed to meet, And sore by dawn were her dainty feet, But all the boys were gay

Rowan snickered. “I think everyone in this car might be a little gay,” they said. They glanced at Simon and suddenly clammed up, their eyes a little wider than they were a moment ago. 

“I think of myself as a free-wheeling bisexual,” added Magnus. 

“Please never say those words in front of my parents,” said Alec. “Especially my father.”

“I thought your parents were okay with you, you know, coming out,” said Simon, leaning around Rowan to look at Alec, who was—as he often was—scowling, and pushing his floppy dark hair out of his eyes. Aside from the occasional exchange, Simon had never talked to Alec much. He wasn’t an easy person to get to know. But, Simon admitted to himself, his own recent estrangement from his mother made him more curious about Alec’s answer than he would have been otherwise. 

“My mother seems to have accepted it,” Alec said. “But my father—no, not really. Once he asked me what he thought turned me gay.”

Simon felt Rowan tense next to them. He knew they regarded the Lightwoods as something akin to parents and they had their own struggles getting any of them to accept them. Robert, Maryse, or even their own father. “Sounds like something he’d say,” they muttered. 

“I hope you told them you were bitten by a gay spider,” said Simon. 

Magnus snorted; Rowan looked confused. He made a mental note to give them a few comics to look into. They didn’t seem like the type to enjoy it but it never hurt to ask. If anything, maybe Jensen would like them when they got him home. “I’ve read Magnus’s stash of comics,” said Alec, “so I actually know what you're talking about.” A small smile played around his mouth. “So wouldn’t that give me the proportional gayness of a spider?”

“Only if it was a really gay spider,” said Magnus, and he yelled as Alec punched him in the arm. “Ow, okay, nevermind.”

Rowan was incredibly quiet about the whole conversation. From what he understood, they weren’t exactly straight, but there were more complex feelings there than that. As long as he’d known them, they’d never really acted like a girl or looked like one. It didn’t bother him in the slightest. They were Rowan, and that was the important part, right? But he understood that existing like that around Shadowhunters had to be hard. 

“Do you ever wish…” they said, their voice a barely-intelligible mutter. “Do you ever wish you never came out?”

Simon glanced past the two of them and saw a frown deepen on Magnus’s face. He clearly didn't appreciate the question. Alec hesitated to answer, his mouth slightly parted, as if it took him off guard, too. “No,” he said finally. “No, I don’t. I gained too much from it, as much as I hate the little things I have to deal with from arrogant, intolerant assholes.”

Magnus seemed to settle at that. He seemed happy that was the answer. He took his right hand off the steering wheel and held Alec’s with it, something he barely acknowledged. 

“Can I tell you guys something?” They asked after a beat of silence. “Something I would prefer you not repeat to Maryse, or even Izzy. For now.”

Alec’s eyes widened for a moment, then nodded. Simon tried to say something but Magnus beat him to it. “Of course, peanut,” the warlock said, glancing at them from the corner of his eye. 

“I like Magnus’s word for it,” they said, their voice tight like it was painful to say. “Bisexual. Liking girls or boys, right?” 

Magnus hummed in affirmation. “If that’s how you feel,” he said, his voice a little lighter than it had been. “I know it’s easier said than done, but being true to yourself is important. I’ve made many a friend over the years that struggled with their own sexualities and it made them miserable to repress it. I don’t want to see you down that path.” He glanced at Alec, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth, like he was happy Alec wasn’t one of those people. Alec said nothing. 

Rowan barely acknowledged Magnus’s words. They stared blankly ahead, eyes fixated on the road ahead of them. When Simon offered his hand in support, just as he’d done a million times before, palm-up and resting on his leg, Rowan pulled theirs from him and crossed it over their body. He frowned. The sign for the turnoff loomed up ahead: a wooden placard in the shape of an arrow with the words Three Arrows Farm painted on it in block lettering. Simon remembered Luke kneeling on the farmhouse floor, painstakingly spelling out the words in black paint, while Clary added the—now weather-faded and almost invisible—pattern of flowers along the bottom. 

“Turn left,” he said, flinging his arm out and nearly hitting Alec. “Magnus, we’re here.”

[x-ceirios-x]

City of Lost Souls, Chapter 15: Magdalena

please see the masterlist for notes about this series/collection of works

It was decided, though not without a great deal of arguing, that in order for the summoning of Raziel to take place, Team Good would need to find a fairly secluded location. “We can’t summon a sixty-foot angel in the middle of Central Park,” Magnus observed dryly. “People might notice, even in New York.”

“Raziel is sixty feet tall?” Simon said. He was slumped in an armchair he’d pulled up to the table with Rowan perched on the arm of it. There were rings under their eyes, he noticed; they, like Alec, Magnus, and Simon—were exhausted. They had all been awake for hours, poring through books of Magnus’s so old that their pages were as thin as onionskin. Both Rowan and Alec could read Greek and Latin, and Rowan had a particular interest in demonic languages, but there were still many only Magnus could understand. Early on, he’d made a phone call to someone and it hadn't gone well, which put a damper on his mood. Maia and Jordan, realizing they could be more help elsewhere, had left for the police station to check on Luke. Meanwhile, Simon had tried to make himself useful in other ways—getting food and coffee, copying down symbols as Magnus instructed, fetching more paper and pencils, and even feeding Chairman Meow, who had thanked him by coughing up a hairball on the floor of Magnus’s kitchen. 

“Actually, he’s only fifty-nine feet tall, but he likes to exaggerate,” said Magnus. Tiredness was not improving his temper. His hair was sticking straight up, and there were smudges of glitter on the backs of his hands where he had rubbed his eyes. “He’s an angel. I hoped you would have figured that out by now.”

Rowan shot him a pointed glare. “Valentine raised an angel in his cellar. It’s a valid question—”

“Because Valentine is just WAY MORE AWESOME than me,” snapped Magnus. “Look—”

“If I knew you were going to be this bitchy, Magnus, I would have quit coming over ages ago,” Rowan said, irritation beginning to rise in their voice, too. Simon reached forward for their hand, hoping to calm them somehow, but it was too late. “The only reason I’m still here is to make sure he—” they gestured towards Simon— “doesn’t die, and to save my brother, in case anyone forgot he was wrapped up in all of this, too.”

“I am just as worried about Jensen as you are—”

“Oh, are you?” they snapped. “Says the guy that disappeared from our lives for eight years because he didn’t think to use a tracking spell—”

Magnus roared but another voice cut through the conversation, silencing them both. “Enough!” Alec demanded, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Leave the family drama for another day. It’s not going to help us to hash anything out now.” He stared at both of them, his blue eyes inflamed with anger, and both seemed to listen to him. Magnus slumped back against the couch. “Ithuriel was a lower-ranked angel and didn’t take up as much space as Raziel would. If you were to summon a higher rank angel, Michael, or Gabriel—”

“I couldn’t make a spell that would bind them, even momentarily,” said Magnus in a subdued voice. “We’re summoning Raziel in part because we’re hoping that as the creator of Shadowhunters, he will have a special compassion—or, really, any compassion—for your situation. He’s also of about the right rank. A less powerful angel might not be able to help us, but a more powerful angel…well, if something went wrong…”

“It might not just be me who dies,” said Simon. 

Magnus looked pained, and Alec glanced down at the papers strewn across the table. Rowan hid their expression from him, their shoulders squared away from him, but they reached back for his hand. He took it, lacing his fingers through theirs. “I can’t believe we’re really summoning an angel,” they said. “My whole life we’ve sworn on the Angel’s name. We know our power comes from angels. But the idea of seeing one…i can’t really imagine it. When I try to think about it, it’s…”

A silence fell across the table. There was a darkness in Magnus’s eyes that made Simon wonder if he had ever seen an angel. He wondered whether he ought to ask, but was saved deciding by the buzzing of his cell phone. 

“One second,” he muttered, and got to his feet. He flipped the phone open and leaned against one of the loft’s pillars. It was a text—several—from Maia. 

Good news! Luke is awake and talking. It looks like he’s going to be okay.

Relief poured over Simon in a wave. Finally, good news. He flipped the phone shit and reached for the ring on his hand. Clary?

Nothing. 

He swallowed his nerves. She was probably asleep. He looked up to find three of the people at the table staring at him. 

“Who called?” Rowan asked. 

“It was Maia. She said Luke’s up and talking. That he’s going to be okay.” There was a chatter of relieved voices, someone mentioned calling Andy, but Simon was still staring down at the ring on his hand. “She gave me an idea.”

Rowan looked at him curiously, a hesitancy in their voice as they spoke. His ideas had been downright suicidal as of late. “What is it?”

“What do we need to summon Raziel? How much space?” Simon asked. 

Magnus paused over a book. “A mile around, at least. Water would be good. Like Lake Lyn—”

“Luke’s farm,” Simon said. “Upstate. An hour or two away. It should be shut up now, but I know how to get there. And there’s a lake. Not as big as Lake Lyn, but…”

Magnus closed the book he was holding. “That’s not a bad idea, Seamus.”

Rowan waved him off. “A few hours?” they asked. “We could be there by—”

“Oh, no,” said Magnus. He pushed the book away from him. “While your enthusiasm is boundless and impressive, peanut, I’m too exhausted to properly cast the summoning spell at the moment. And this isn't something I want to take risks with. I think we can all agree.”

“So when?” Alec asked. 

“We need a few hours of sleep at least,” Magnus said. “I say we leave early afternoon. Sherlock—sorry, Simon—call and see if you can borrow Jordan’s truck in the meantime. And now…” he pushed his papers to the side. “I’m going to sleep. Peanut, Simon, you’re more than welcome to use the spare room again if you like.”

“Different spare rooms would be better,” Alec muttered. 

Rowan looked at Simon with questioning eyes, but he was already reaching into his pocket for his phone. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll be back by noon, but for now there’s something important I have to do.”