Important Story-Notes: I have read all of Mortal Instruments, the first Infernal Devices (though the internet spoiled what happens, so I know about it), and I'm not actively reading any, but I certainly will. On that note, I apologize for inconsistencies within the canon. This IS AU, technically, because I'm not researching the Lightwood/Herondale/Lewis bloodlines or such, and I'm twisting them to fit my story.
Also, It's technically the year 2124, but for simplicities sake I'm going to pretend like tech didn't advance too much. There will me some futuristic things, but I don't want that to be the focus of the story. So...
This will follow Max, my own version of descendants, new downworlders, new villains, and new plotlines. It will also explore the Magnus/Alec relationship as Alec aged and Magnus didn't, so there will be heavy Malec if you sit through the actual storyline to get to the scenes/flashbacks/references, whatever I decide to do.
And if it's not obvious, I do not own any characters, this is fanfiction, all the disclaimer stuff that needs to go before hand. It is purely for entertainment.
Please leave a review telling me what you think, and I promise not to bug you again with a huge intro thing. Thanks for reading!
Chapter One:
The studio apartment was small. A kitchen that was attached to a living room attached to a bedroom and somewhere near the front door there was a bathroom. It was clean and sparse, sure, but actual cleaning hadn't been done in a decade. The man who lived there probably didn't know how.
Cold tile of the kitchen turned into rough carpet of the living room, then back again, as Max Lightwood-Bane paced from one end of his small home to the other, increasing in pace subconsciously and trying desperately to keep his voice calm. His hand was out, his phone on speaker, and a tired sounding, comforting voice was crackling through the other end.
"Look, Blueberry, this could be nothing. You don't have to worry. Years weigh heavy on the heart. Do you think I look the same as I did three hundred years ago?"
Max shook his head, taking a deep breath.
"I've seen pictures of you three hundred years ago," he said. And it was true. He got it, he did, but it was different. It wasn't a build up of memory behind the eyes, or a weary look or stooped shoulders. It was his jawline, his hair texture, his nose, things he shouldn't have noticed. Things that didn't change with emotions and experience. "But this is different. This is… I don't know. Something's wrong. Something is going wrong."
"Look, if you're so concerned, give a shout to the High Warlock there. Where are you, again?"
"San Francisco," Max replied, stopping his panicking feet in the middle of the kitchen.
"San Fran. Haven't been there in ages. If I'm correct, though, you should be looking for a warlock named Evangeline Glimmer. Should be on Elkwood Street. She's very talented, and if she can't help you, I'm not sure I could."
Max nodded, setting the phone down on the counter and leaning over it.
"But what do I do if I'm right?" he asked. "Should I come home?"
"You're not aging, Max," Magnus snapped, and it was almost aggressively. It was surprising to hear his father speak so snappily to him, especially about something like this.
"Okay, but-"
"You're a hundred and seven. Do you think now, of all things, you'd stop being a warlock?"
"I suppose you're right," Max said, sighing. "I'll find Evangeline and see if she knows anything."
"Give me a call if you figure it out. But I've got a client coming in ten minutes, so I might be out all night."
Max nodded to himself, then quietly said goodbye and tapped the hang-up button on his phone. He sat like that for a while, staring at the 'call cancelled' screen on his phone until it went black.
A client, of course. High Warlock of Brooklyn. Didn't have time for problems unless they crashed his parties with someone dying. He shook his head. He was proud of his father, of course he was. Managing to hold onto High Warlock status for a century is impressive, but two? Of course he was busy. Magnus had never been able to stay away from the shadowhunter's world. He never would be.
Max straightened up, taking a breath and out of the corner of his eye caught sight of the photos pinned to the fridge. Him. His fathers. Clary. Isabelle. His cousins. Jace. Simon. Then it was him and Magnus and everyone was older and there were little ones running about. Then it was him and Magnus and the kids and the recent photos were just him or his father and even the other Lightwoods, after years of Clave training, had stopped visiting.
But it wasn't their fault and it wasn't his father's and it wasn't like it would have been any different growing up in any other family, but in any other family there may have been more than one other warlock.
"You'd know what to do," Max said, stepping towards the fridge and picking his favourite photo down from under the magnet. Both of his parents, walking away from the camera, talking, looking at each other - Clary took it before they got him. It was the only photo of his father he hadn't been aware of, and it was one of few that he had before his own time. When his dad was still a shadowhunter and they were unmarried and just happy and young. Alec Lightwood would know what to do.
Alec Lightwood would probably go to Magnus, a small voice in the back of his head told him. He shook his head and stared at the photo until he couldn't bear the ache anymore and pinned it back to the fridge.
Max turned to find his jacket, which had been thrown over the small couch in the corner.
Max couldn't go to Magnus though. He knew his father didn't like it. Didn't like him relying too heavily on family ties. Hence the prompt to go to Evangeline.
Magnus Bane was a funny character, and even moreso when you were the son of said character. He hadn't changed a pip in the time Max could remember. Everything was extravagance and flourish and pride, and despite what he'd said - forty years ago now - Max wasn't a fool, and he knew his father would be back to his old tricks soon, if he wasn't already.
Who was the girl he was talking about recently? Holly something? Some stupid girl with funny abilities and a pretty boytoy and his father was seeing double, he knew. Looking at them and thinking that if he did it just this once, one time only, maybe it would feel so familiar the hurt would go away.
Max slammed the door to his apartment behind him, much to the annoyance of his elderly neighbours, and took the stairs two by two to get down.
It wasn't really Max's fault, either, that he relied so heavily on family. Sometimes he forgot, but other times it was painfully apparent that he was not related to either of his fathers. That he was someone else entirely. Most times it wasn't an issue. It was a fact, sure, but not a reality to him. In other cases…
He threw a glamour over his skin and small horns to look more appropriate for walking in the streets and turned down the steeply sloping streets.
In other cases he knew there was something off about him. It wasn't his fault though. He wasn't a powerful warlock. He wasn't even a very good warlock. His magic was pitiful at best of times and downright disappointing usually. His father had spent everything trying to train him and teach him how to harness his abilities, but it had never clicked for Max.
Maybe his magic was disappearing altogether. It had always been in small doses, but maybe it was well and truly gone. Maybe he was mundane, now. Aging.
Well, he was still blue. He could still glamour. Maybe not yet. Maybe soon?
The streets of San Francisco were obnoxiously steep and awful, but Max had gotten used to it in the last two decades. He enjoyed the view of the ocean from the top of the hills, and the colour of the houses lining the streets.
Despite the peace that had befallen downworlders in the last century - thanks dad and co - old habits died hard, and downworlders were naturally wary of those around them. Especially, Max thought, narrowing his eyes at a shadowhunter sitting on the steps of a building, when they popped up in the places he needed to be.
His hair was straight and red and hung over his eyes. He was looking down, and staring at a leather bound brown book in his hands. Black runes crawled up his right arm and neck, and and Max recognized the Runes for stamina and agility and strength. He glanced up at Max approached, watching him balefully but not saying a word. He wondered if he could tell he was a warlock.
Max knocked on the door stiffly.
"She must be out," the boy said, slumping into his own arms. "I've been here an hour."
Max raised an eye and knocked again, and begged his power not to backfire on him. When he knocked, he made sure to send the sound deep into the house, echoing loudly through wooden walls.
There was a sudden pounding of feet, and the door swung open.
"Can't a lady have some time to herself?" Evangeline Glimmer snapped, casting gold eyes up and down Max's figure, then over to the shadowhunter.
"My name is Max Lightwood-Bane," Max said, dipping his head respectfully. "I just have a few questions."
The shadowhunter jerked his head up, green eyes wide. Lightwood always raised a few questions.
Max usually went with Lightwood-Bane when introducing himself. In some, but not all, downworlder interactions he'd just use Bane, since shadowhunters weren't always the most welcome. If he had to interact with an institute at all, though, he usually just used Lightwood. It was enjoyable, actually, watching them all freak out over the warlock who carried the shadowhunter name. They didn't know how to treat him.
"Lightwood-Bane?" Evangeline echoed. "Well aren't you a little surprise? Come in," she glanced down to the shadowhunter. "I'll deal with you later."
Max was ushered inside, and the door was shut on the shadowhunter.