So I got an idea for this after reading the first installment of The Bane Chronicles, "What Really Happened In Peru." I liked the idea of a day-to-day account of the life of Shadowhunters and Downworlders. So that's what this is along with some new original characters. I have another Mortal Instruments story I started years ago but never finished. I sort of forgot where I was going with it and gave up. This, on the other hand, doesn't have much of a central plot, which is very different from what I usually write. I guess it's an experiment. Also, I apologize for any spelling/grammar errors. I always manage to miss a few. Enjoy!
New York City – the city that never sleeps. Whether light or dark, the city always thrummed with life, constantly busy. As if the world as we see it isn't busy enough, another world thrives alongside it hidden beneath layers of glamour. The alleyway behind the club looked deserted. Passersby would only turn their heads if they heard a noise, but they would write it off as a homeless person or a stray cat. Most of the people passing by were drunk anyway, considering the late hour and the shady neighborhood. Little do the habitants of New York know, a war as old as time raged on around the Mundanes. A war between good and evil, light and dark. A war between angels and demons – quite literally.
Jace Lightwood ran up the wall and flipped in the air, landing softly behind the scaly, gray demon. He jabbed the hilt of a Seraph blade into the demon's back. He muttered, "Asariel," and a blade shot out of the hilt, piercing through the demon's heart. The demon shrieked as it jerked, black ichor spraying everywhere. When it became still, it folded upon itself and disappeared back to the demon realm from whence it came.
Behind Jace, Alec Lightwood fended off a demon whose arms were swords. Alec with his own sword parried the blows like a well-trained knight, seeking out weakness and waiting for a window of opportunity. He found it. The demon came at the elder Lightwood with a wide swing aiming to decapitate him. Alec ducked and swung his word around, slicing the demon clean in half. He miscalculated slightly and earned a cut on his forearm from the demon's razor sharp tail.
Another demon covered in orange, poisonous slime leaped at Isabelle Lightwood. Isabelle lashed out with her whip, knocking the demon against the wall. With a flick of her wrist, the electrum whip wound around the demon's throat. Isabelle yanked hard, pulling the whip so tight that it severed the demon's head from its shoulders.
Isabelle touched the large square ruby at the throat. "That's the last of them," she panted. She cracked her whip against the pavement to clean it off, sending ichor and slime splattering all over the alleyway. Then she sank down on an old wooden crate, exhausted.
"That's it?" Jace whined with disappointment. "Just as I was starting to have fun."
"You're unbelievable," Alec muttered. "There were at least fifteen of them. I'd say that's more than enough." He began fussing over a deep gash in Isabelle's shoulder. Isabelle slapped her brother's hand away. She hated being treated like a child.
"Let's go," Alec said. "I don't know what kind of poisons those demons had. We should get back to the Institute quickly in case any of us were poisoned. Magnus left some of his potions in the infirmary."
"Oooh, potions, huh?" Jace sneered.
"Shut up, Jace," Alec growled.
The three Shadowhunters, covered in cuts, bruises, dirt, blood, and slime leaned on each other as they began the trek back to the Institute. They only took a few steps before Alec stumbled. His hand shot out, stabilizing himself against the wall.
"You okay?" Jace asked.
Alec's head was swimming. The streetlights swirled before him. "I'm dizzy," he grumbled.
"Must be demon poison," Isabelle said, helping Alec stay upright. "Which one was it?"
Alec shook his head slowly. "I don't know. Too many."
Isabelle swore. "Think, Alec. Which one? I won't know which potion to give you."
"All of them," Jace offered. When Isabelle shot him a dirty look, he added, "Well, one of them is bound to work."
"Well, well, well," said a strange voice. "Hello, Nephilim."
A figure had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Its voice was strong, but feminine. Jace drew a Seraph blade and took a protective stance in front of the two Lightwoods. Hidden by the shadows, Jace could just barely make out an outline. The figure stepped forward into the light of a dimming streetlamp. It was a girl of about nineteen years old. She seemed human enough, but demons always had a mark that gave them away, even shapeshifters and half-demon warlocks.
"You know, this is a bad part of town, chica," Jace said.
"I can tell," the girl replied. She nodded toward the Shadowhunters. "You lot look a right bloody mess."
Jace straightened up. "They make demons with British accents now?"
The girl rolled her eyes. "I'm only half-demon, you half-wit."
"How dare you?!" Jace bellowed in an exaggerated, mocking accent. "I have much more than half a wit!"
"Look, are you going to stand there and mock me all night? Or are you going to let me help your mate?" the girl demanded, gesturing to Alec. "He needs to be healed by a warlock."
"Funny thing, actually, he just broke up with one."
Isabelle growled impatiently. She brushed past Jace, dragging Alec along with her. "My brother doesn't know what kind of demon poisoned him. Can you help?" Isabelle asked the warlock.
"Of course I can."
"Don't trust a warlock," Alex grumbled, hazily.
"We don't have any other choice," his sister argued. "It's not like Magnus is going to help us."
The warlock girl held out her hand to younger Lightwood. "Come with me."
Isabelle hesitated. Alec was right. It would be senseless to trust a stranger, especially a warlock. "Why should we trust you?"
The girl shrugged. "You probably shouldn't, but that's your call."
Isabelle sighed, but finally took the warlock girl's hand.
"Don't I get an invitation?" Jace cried, feeling left out.
"Well, come along then," the warlock said impatiently. "Hold on."
Jace placed his hand on Isabelle's shoulder. The warlock girl traced shimmering, unfamiliar Runes in the air and snapped her fingers. That's when Jace believed he saw the warlock's mark. Suddenly, her eyes glowed an opalescent green. One second they were standing in the alleyway. The next they were standing inside a luxurious high rise loft.
"Put him on the sofa," the warlock said, "and take off his gear." She disappeared into another room and then reappeared with an old brown leather medicine box. Jace and Isabelle led Alec over to the black leather U-shaped couch. Alec lay down clumsily as his sister and Jace began removing his gear.
"Who are you anyway?" Isabelle asked.
"Allora Knight," said the warlock. She began inspecting Alec's wounds as Jace pulled off the last of the gear.
"Why are you helping us? You're a Downworlder."
Allora smiled slightly. "Let's just say I have a long history with the Nephilim. I've always been on good terms with them. This is Alec Lightwood, yes?"
Isabelle's eyes widened. "How did you know?"
"Magnus told me all about him. And you must be Isabelle."
"You know Magnus?"
Allora chuckled as she soaked a cloth with a sour smelling potion. "I know Mr. Bane quite intimately. Alec, I'm sorry, but this will sting." Alec winced as Allora cleaned his wounds with the cloth.
"How intimately?" Jace asked.
Allora raised an eyebrow at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she scoffed with a mischievous grin.
"Yes, I would actually."
"I've known Magnus for a very long time. We used to travel and go on adventures of all sorts together in our younger years."
"When was that? A few centuries ago?"
"Hmmph! A mouthy little git you are. You must be a Herondale. All looks and no charm."
Isabelle snickered at this comment.
"What are you talking about?" Jace demanded defensively. "I am a lovely and pleasant individual. I'm more charming than Prince Charming!"
"If Prince Charming were a ravener…" Allora muttered. "Right then. I need to get to work before the poison does any more damage. You two make yourselves at home. No bickering. There are biscuits in the kitchen."
"Biscuits? Who makes biscuits anymore?" Jace said.
"Oh, what is it you Americans call them? Cookies? Yes, there are cookies in the kitchen. And one more thing – if you don't know what it is, don't touch it."
Jace froze with his fingers only a hair's width away from a jade amulet hanging on the wall. He withdrew his hand slowly. He was about to ask what would happen if he touched the amulet, but then he decided he probably didn't want to know. Warlocks were weird.
The next morning, Jace woke up on one side of the U-shaped couch. Across the chrome and glass coffee table, Isabelle lay asleep on the other side of the couch. Her little finger was hooked around Alec's, who was also asleep on the middle section of the couch. The warlock had offered Jace and Isabelle the spare bedrooms to spend the night, but they wanted to stay by Alec's side. That's how they grew up – always together.
Jace stood up and stretched, working out the kinks in his muscles. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles as he walked into the kitchen. He inhaled deeply, filling his nostrils with the smell of breakfast – eggs, bacon, and pancakes. Allora sat at the square table, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee that was pressed to her chin. She stared blankly across the kitchen, and Jace took a moment to study her. Her tanned complexion was flawless. Her jet black hair fell stick-straight onto her shoulders. Her large almond-shaped eyes were rimmed with lashes so long and thick that they would never need mascara. Though she was strikingly and unnaturally beautiful, she seemed perfectly human. Even her irises were perfect circles and a shade of rich olive green that could pass for human. Jace thought he had seen the warlock's mark, but he wasn't sure.
"Jace, I am well aware that I am quite attractive, but staring is rude," Allora said without looking up at Jace.
"I want to see who will blink first," Jace said. "I'm very good at staring contests."
"You're looking for my warlock's mark."
"Well, I don't see it, so I assume it's under your clothes. I personally would not mind taking a look."
Suddenly, the chair across the table from Allora slid outward as if inviting Jace to take a seat. Allora's eyes glimmered a pale, opalescent green as they had the night before when she transported herself and the three Shadowhunters from the alley to her apartment. Her mark only appeared when she used magic.
"Well, I guess that's convenient," Jace said.
"You have no idea." It was then that Jace saw the only thing about the warlock's face that gave away her age; it was her eyes. The look in her eyes spoke of an old soul that had seen just about everything, both beautiful and horrible. Her eyes were shadowed with the wisdom of centuries, and yet shone with the spark of a mischievous youngster who had all the time in the world.
Jace helped himself to a plate of food and sat down across from Allora. "So how old are you?" he asked with a mouthful of bacon.
"You know, you should never ask a woman her age," Allora replied pretending to be offended.
"Are you older than Magnus?"
"I am older than the Nephilim. I was born two hundred years before Jonathan Shadowhunter."
Jace whistled. "Well, let me tell you, you are aging well. Speaking of Magnus, have you heard from him or seen him lately? It's like he fell off the face of the earth after he dumped Alec."
"Magnus? He's probably up to some drunken debauchery in some exotic place, downing every drink he can get his hands on, embarking on madmen's adventures, making love to anything and everything in his path."
"Drunken debauchery? And he didn't invite me?" Jace frowned with disappointment.
"That's what he does when he's in pain. He runs away, drinks himself stupid, gets himself banned from places for doing things he can't remember."
"Isn't he banned from Peru? What did he do?"
"No one knows," Allora said shaking her head. "I actually ran into Magnus about two months ago in Thailand. We had quite a fun night. Magnus accidently set fire to a hotel when he tried to join a flame breathing act. At one point, he snatched a broom from an old woman cleaning her doorstep and enchanted it to fly. He said he wanted to fly to China to fulfill his life dream of becoming a panda. In the end he fell off the broom and decided that some dreams were too far out of reach to be practical. The next morning, he was gone. But he left me a note asking me to keep an eye on things in New York for him."
"Why? He's gone on vacation before without leaving anyone in charge."
"It's not the city his worried about. It's Alec."
"Why did he ask you?"
"Like I said, I've always been close with the Nephilim. Also, I was once the High Warlock of London."
"Was? What happened?"
"I retired. It had been centuries since I had gone travelling, so I set out to explore the world – again."
Suddenly the front door banged open. "I'm baaaaaack!" sang a familiar voice.
"If it isn't the Bane of my existence…" Allora grumbled. "I knew I shouldn't have given him a key."
Magnus Bane dashed into the kitchen. "Allora, darling! You won't believe what happened in Moracco! Oh it was wonderful! I'll have you tell you everything! Well, everything I remember anyway, which unfortunately isn't very much."
"Magnus, are you still drunk?"
"Maaaaaybeeeee," Magnus drawled, swaying side to side.
"I'm not surprised. Have you noticed that I have guests? You're being very rude."
"Good morning, sorry to – OH HOLY–" Magnus jumped back in surprise, his cat-like eyes almost popping out of his head, and unleashed a string of curses even Jace would have hated to repeat. "JONATHAN CHRISTOPHER MORGENSTERN LIGHTWOOD WAYLAND HERONDALE!"
"Say that ten times fast," Jace challenged.
"Magnus?" said a groggy voice from the doorway of the kitchen. Magnus looked up and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. Alec, with his hair and clothes disheveled, stood leaning against the wall rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I thought I heard your voice. What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same," Magnus replied harshly.
"Please be polite to my guests," Allora scolded the other warlock.
"It's okay," Alec said quietly. "I'll wake Izzy and we'll get out of your hair. Thank you for your help. I am in your debt. Come on, Jace."
Magnus looked like he was going to be ill, having not expected to see his ex-boyfriend. Whatever he had eaten a few hours ago, it was not sitting well with the alcohol and butterflies churning in his stomach.
"If you vomit anywhere but the toilet, I will feed you to the werewolves," Allora warned him.