Hello there, this is my first fanfic so I hope it lives up to expectations. Everything belongs to the fabulous author, Cassandra Clare. Except the new character in the story, he's mine and there's a lot more to him than meets the eye.

"Magnus, are you sure he's coming?"

Isabelle's voice cut through the silence like a knife. She was shifting in anticipation, Clary noticed. Isabelle was rarely nervous, but meeting a centuries old warlock unnerved everyone. Magnus looked at her and rolled his cat-like eyes. He was wearing surprisingly normal clothes, but his hair was standing up just like always. "For the hundredth time, Isabelle, he said he was coming to this place, at this time. Just leave it and wait will you?"

Isabelle huffed, but said nothing. Pleased, Magnus turned and winked at Clary who was standing next to him. She smiled gently back at him, but inside she was as impatient as Isabelle. The person they were meeting could help them to find Jace. Jace. Just thinking of him hurt her heart.
She missed him terribly, but there was nothing that she could do. She had never felt so afraid and so helpless, as she did when she found Jace was gone. With Sebastian too. They all had despaired, but Magnus had managed to get in touch with a warlock friend of his, one Magnus had said, who might be able to help.

The warlock had agreed that he would meet with Magnus in the New York Library at noon to discuss a possible agreement. Magnus had wanted to go alone, but he had told Alec, who in turn told Isabelle, who told Clary. So here they all were, in the library, waiting for the warlock to show up. There was no one there except for an old man reading quietly to himself in one of the armchairs and the librarian who was stamping overdue books with a force that bordered on violence. 20 minutes passed and the librarian soon finished, returning to the back room, presumably on her break.
"Thank God. I thought she'd never leave," said a voice from behind them. The old man stood there looking at them, his hand clutching a book. Magnus stared at him curiously, then asked, "Excuse me sir, but isn't that book a little young for you?"

Clary glanced at the book in the old man's hand, looking for its title. A Tale of Two Cities was stamped in gold along the spine. A little too young? This man looked like he would have been alive when it was first released. The old man shook his head, laughing. "Oh, Magnus, you always could tell when I was disguising myself. It's what made you such an interesting student."
Clary stepped back as the old man began to twist and in his place stood a young man, no more than 19 years old. He was tall and muscular, his golden brown hair spiking out and his eyes were a dark colour, contrasting to his tangled locks. He was incredibly good-looking; his face was lit with humour and intelligence. Everything about him was artful, the shape of his lips, the curve of his cheekbones. There was an aura of mystery about him, something Clary couldn't quite put her finger on, but he seemed familiar to her.
The warlock grinned, showing perfect white teeth. "This is one of her favourites, Mag, do you remember? And Will loved this book too. Although he would never admit it, even to his dying day. He was a stubborn bastard, I'll give him that."

Magnus chuckled and the two men shook hands. Looking around Magnus, the warlock gave a start of surprise. "Children of the Nephilim. I don't recall you saying that you were bringing them." As he spoke, his face changed, one of wariness and suspicion. "What is this Magnus?" the warlock said, in his beautiful, powerful voice, "Are you playing games again?"

Magnus raised his hands, and in a pleading tone, replied, "No, no games. These Shadowhunters have lost one of their own. They need your help." The warlock shook his head and laughed in contempt. "Help? Help? I offered my help years ago," he retorted. "And they just turned around and spat in my face." The warlock turned to look at them, his dark eyes flicking from each of their faces, finally coming to rest on Clary. Those dark eyes glimmered as he looked at her, a flash of recognition sparked in them.
"I don't offer help to those who don't deserve it. As much as this was lovely, Magnus, I have to go. Meeting the Nephilim has spoiled my good mood. Contact me when you want to have a proper chat." And with that, the warlock bowed slightly, turned on his heel and walked out, as graceful as a cat.

Magnus fell into a chair, his head in his hands. Confused, the Alec and Isabelle turned on him and began to pester with questions, while Clary stood there shaking with rage. What an idiot she had been, an idiot to believe that this warlock could help them, help her. She turned to Magnus, who was ignoring the Lightwood siblings, and walked over and forced his head up to look at her. His cat eyes were sad, but froze when they met hers. He grabbed her wrists and pushed them to her waist. She struggled like a hooked fish, and before she knew it, she was yelling.
"What the hell Magnus! You said he would help, not take one look at us and run away! You made me think that I could get Jace back!"
As she was yelling, the librarian stormed out of her office, and shoved them all into the street, on top of the steps Magnus turned his steely gaze on her and replied, "Clary, I said he might help. Not that he would. It was only a chance, and you can only blame yourself for getting your hopes up."

Clary recoiled at his words, her soul almost shattering. Doing the only thing she could do, she ran down the steps and crossed the street, not caring where she was going; only wanting to get away from Magnus and his cruel words. She dimly heard Alec and Isabelle shouting after her, telling her to wait, but she ran on. Running through the streets, she saw people staring, but ignored them. She ran into a side alley and leant against the wall, trying to catch her breath. Only then did she realise that she was crying, and angrily wiped the tears away.
"When someone is crying, of course, the noble thing to do is to comfort them," came a voice, "but if someone is trying to hide their tears, it may also be noble to pretend you do not notice them." Looking up, Clary saw the handsome warlock standing at the entrance to alleyway, a sad smile on his face. She stiffened in surprise which quickly turned to anger. Why was here there?

"What do you want? I thought you didn't want to help Nephilim?" The warlock grinned suddenly. It changed his face; it made him look like Jace. Her heart contracted. Sliding to the ground, she began to cry desperately, her whole body racked with gut wrenching sobs. She felt that the warlock had sat down next to her, his arm wrapped comfortingly around her shoulders. For what seemed like hours she cried, but the warlock sat there, murmuring kindly to her.
Eventually, she stopped and the warlock picked her up, bridal style and called for a cab. Clary expected him to leave her in the cab, but he climbed in with her and told the driver an address. Suddenly she felt incredibly tired, her eyes were drooping, and she felt herself falling forwards. She was briefly aware of the warlock catching her and she soundly collapsed into sleep.

Thoughts? R&R please, people. Constructive criticism only please. I bruise easily.