How Chairman Meow came to reside in the High Warlock of Brooklyn's loft.
"Even after all these years, the people of New York City continue to surprise me," Magnus thought to himself, listening half-heartedly to the frantic tale of his newest client, as he reclined in the plush, and now blue to match the tips of his hair, velvet armchair in his loft. The client was an elderly woman of Asian descent, with long silver hair pinned back with a jade pin, a family heirloom, he guessed. She wasn't very tall, and her feet barely touched the ornate rug beneath her. Ms. Mèng, he suddenly remembered, that was her name. He met so many people…
She would have appeared normal, were it not for the odd glint in her eyes, and the barely visible glimmer that surrounded her. She had the blood of the Fair Folk in her; not much, but enough to know of the hidden world. Her grandmother had probably been a healer. Generations of stories and myths handed down the family tree had made her superstitious, which was why she believed the creature "terrorizing" her shop was no normal being.
"It's awful," she said again, "Every night, it gets into the dumpster and scatters the trash everywhere, and it tears up my garden! Not to mention the mess it made inside the store! It tore through all my bolts of silk and knocked countless items off the shelves!
"Uh-huh," Magnus said, "Have you ever seen this creature?" He asked. He was fairly certain the "creature" was nothing more than an animal. A very persistent gang of raccoons perhaps. And if that was the case, there was really no reason for him to be involved in such a mundane problem.
"Well, no," she stammered. "But I've heard it," she paused dramatically, "it screams."
"Screams?" He repeated questioningly.
"Yes," she nodded. "Awful sound, I almost had it trapped once, but it started shrieking and managed to get away before I could see it. It nearly bit my hand off though!"
"Well, it's most likely some sort of stray animal has figured its way into your shop," he said. "I would suggest having someone come look for holes in the building's outer walls and then having them covered. Now if that's all-" he began to say.
"You think I don't know the difference between a stray dog and a demon?" She asked shrilly, her eyebrows arching. "I didn't pay you to insult me warlock!"
"Actually," he said, regarding her coolly with hooded, glittering eyes, "you've yet to pay me at all."
"And what a relief that is if that's all the help you can offer! Some High Warlock of Brooklyn you are," she grumbled crossly.
What a lot of personality she has, he noted as she continued to protest. Magnus often found the elderly depressing, wrinkled reminders of the oh-so limited time most of those around him had. Not to mention they routinely smelled of mothballs. It made him long for more permanent company, since no matter how often he had guests, whether as attendees of a party or as clients, there were always the times it was just him, all alone in his flamboyantly decorated loft. Despite her age, she seemed to have kept her spirit, a nice change from so many of the desperate souls that came to him. And besides, how hard could it really be for a warlock such as himself to catch a stray animal? He quickly came to a decision.
He held up his hand, the collection of rings on his fingers catching the light. "Alright," he said, interrupting her tirade, "I'll see what I can do."
"Oh," she said, surprised. Obviously she had not expected this. She quickly regained her composure though, and said, "Well of course you will. I believe you already have the address of my shop Mr. Bane," she said stiffly.
"Yes," he nodded, amused.
"Then that will be all," she said, taking out a small purse. She counted out the payment and quickly departed, after briskly nodding when he said he would keep an eye on the shop the next few nights.
He closed the door behind her with a small laugh. What bitter irony that those who were the most begrudging in requesting his help because he was a Downworlder so often had unnatural bloodlines themselves. He glanced at the wall clock next to him and decided that he had just enough time to rest for a while before tracking down the mysterious "creature" tormenting his client.
….
The client's shop was in a building on the edge of Chinatown, Magnus discovered. The wall's light brown brick contrasted with the surrounding red of the neighboring buildings, and was about three stories tall. The storefront was on the ground floor and the living quarters were above. It looked as though the third story was just big enough for an attic at the top, but he couldn't be sure. Not that it was of any importance though; he was focused on the store.
After fifteen very uneventful minutes, Magnus decided to walk around the back and see the extent of havoc in the garden.
Coming around the corner, everything first appeared to be as it should. But as he grew closer, the scent of something similar to wet fur hit him, and he could see claw marks dug into the ground at the back of the tiny plot. Big claw marks. Magnus knelt down to study them closer, and came to the conclusion that either the neighborhood raccoons were on steroids, or his client had a werewolf problem after all.
He stayed for several more hours, until deciding that the shop was safe for night and he would come back the following evening better prepared to confront the troublemakers.
….
The next evening, Magnus had been in the alleyway next to the shop sparsely ten minutes before the tell-tale stench of werewolf flooded the air. Two large wolves, one black one reddish-brown, sailed over the chain link fence, their claws leaving long scratches in the dirt. Just as Magnus was about to step forward, he heard another sound. Whining.
"Guys," a young boy's voice cried. "Wait up!" A brown-haired young boy was trying to climb over the fence, and ended up falling over it instead.
"A young pup," Magnus thought to himself. The child was half transformed, and struggling to keep up with the two older lycanthropes.
He walked quietly forward, before stopping in front of the boy. "Need a hand?" Magnus asked calmly, holding out a hand.
The pup looked up at him with a gasp and gaped at Magnus's appearance. Taking in his knee-length coat, purple tank that stretched over his chest like a second skin, fingers covered by glittering rings, and leather pants, his eyes widened. Despite the fact that Magnus had chosen a more subdued outfit that evening.
"Y-you're wearing make-up," the pup stammered.
Magnus sighed inwardly; really, it was only a bit of eye shadow. "Yes, I am. I'm also a warlock, in case you wanted to point that out as well." He said, several blue sparks flying from his fingertips. The two other lycanthropes tensed, trying to judge where the conversation was leading.
"Why are you here warlock?" One of them growled, morphing slowly into his human form.
"I could ask you the same thing," Magnus replied. "You see this shop here?" He asked, gesturing to the building behind him.
They nodded.
"It belongs to a client of mine," he explained. "Something has been giving her all sorts of trouble. Strewing trash everywhere, tearing up her garden," he paused, looking at the werewolves. "And breaking into her shop."
"Hold on a minute," said the black-furred lycanthrope, who had, up until that point, yet to say anything. "We've just been using the lots back here as a shortcut. You know, to avoid the busier streets. Pack Leader says to avoid the busy places so we don't attract attention."
"Uh-huh," Magnus said, unconvinced. "And what do you think your pack leader would say were he to find out you'd been breaking into mundane's homes? That seems like it would attract exactly the kind of attention he wants to avoid."
"But you can't do that! We didn't break in anywhere!" the pup whined, sounding panicked.
"Is that so?" Magnus asked, eyeing the pup with slight annoyance. He was growing tired of all this. It was cold outside and there was now mud from the day's earlier storm all over his platform boots. An easy fix, but it nevertheless was having a negative effect on his mood.
"He's telling the truth," the red furred (now shaggy red hair as he changed fully into his human form) werewolf said. "We follow the Accords and leave the mundanes alone. Your client probably has a raccoon problem."
"Perhaps," Magnus said. "In any case, I think it would be best for you to find another shortcut."
"Fine," he snarled. "Let's go," he said to the others, before morphing into a wolf once again. The others followed, and Magnus was soon alone.
"I believe my work here is done," he said to himself, walking back the way he had come.
All Mortal Instruments characters belong to the amazing Cassandra Clare. Comments are much appreciated!
