With the exciting announcement of the Magnus Bane Trilogy, I finally decided to finish and, at last, upload this short story which I started about a year ago. I can never get enough of this incredible world that Cassandra Clare has created and so I wanted to make my own contribution to it - and, of course, I had to centre it on my favourite (and perhaps the majority of fan's favourite) pair! I like to imagine scenes that could have happened, keeping them as true to the original story as possible. And so, this short story takes place a week after Magnus and Alec's first date (from the chapter The Course of True Love (And First Dates) of The Bane Chronicles) between City of Bones and City of Ashes. Although I'm British, I tried to write this piece in American English, as Cassandra Clare would for her stories, so I apologise if I've used the wrong terms or spellings. I've also created a few new characters which I may later explore and write about so that we can discover their own story, especially if they gain reader interest! If any of you have read my other works, you will probably know that I'm not the most reliable of writers when it comes to updating a fanfiction (sorry!). However, I can guarantee that this one is finished (the entire piece is about 20 thousand words) but I'm going to upload it in sections at a time. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated but, most of all, I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)
The day of Magnus's second date with a Shadowhunter had started off perfectly normal, as every other day had been recently. Of course, "normal" wasn't exactly the best word to use when there was still the fear over Valentine's return and his eventual plan to strike, which lingered in the back of everyone's minds. Aside from that, things were as normal as they could be and Magnus had chosen to accept the inevitability of a revolt, disregarding the smell of fear as if it were the odor of garbage and urine outside of his apartment which he'd been ignoring for the past however many decades.
He was awoken, as per usual, by midday sun rays greeting his eye lids and claws digging into his skull – an innocent act of affection which, despite inflicting him with pain, Magnus would feel cruel to scold his cat for. He untangled the flurry limbs from his hair and placed Chairman Meow alongside him, eventually stroking his reverberating chest to settle his cries for attention.
When Magnus's eyes fell on his outfit for tonight - a splash of purple and silver across his wardrobe - a thrill shivered through his body and he brought the linen bed sheets higher up his torso. After the success of his first date with Alec Lightwood, he was, without question, looking forward to their second. Although there had been a few minor catastrophes last Friday (most of which had been Magnus's fault) the evening had gone better than he'd anticipated and he'd been left wanting more from the boy with the dark hair and blue eyes. He knew, however, that 'more' wouldn't happen today. Up until now, Alec had lead a respectable life, abiding laws and behaving to the standards that were expected of him. And then Magnus had winked at him. He could have tainted the boy's angelic blood with the demon poison from his own veins and the act wouldn't have been more outrageous of a Downworlder toward a Shadowhunter. Well, the latter was probably illegal but both would get the Nephilim talking.
He pitied Alec for having to closet his sexuality and his interest in a Downworlder because the Nephilim disapproved of such 'scandalous' acts. Alec was a good person - something that Magnus never thought he would say about a member of the Lightwood family - and he deserved to find his own happiness. If that involved a sparkly warlock who was older than his grandfather's grandfather and owned more clothes than a compulsive hoarder had junk, then Magnus wasn't going to deny him of that.
His date outfit consisted of leather pants with a silver studded belt and a buttoned shirt that was shaded mulberry and was as thin as tissue paper. He had debated putting on a vest underneath; however, he didn't want to wear something that would inhibit Alec from exploring his body like he'd done the last time. Again, he had no expectations of Alec taking anything further, not for a long while, supposing their dates ever became something more, but Magnus could imagine. He remembered the way Alec's hands had shaken as he stroked the skin beneath his clothing and he remembered the touch of his tender kisses. They were so honest, so sweetly complaisant, and the memory of Alec's lips against Magnus's palm made his heart ache again.
Snapping his fingers, a cigarette appeared between them. A blue flame sparked from his other hand and he used it to take a long draw. It wasn't until his fourth puff that he realized he didn't even smoke and he dropped the remaining half in the glass of red wine on his bedside table. The sudden reflex to inhale tobacco happened on rare occasions when overcome with anxiety, like a nervous habit to soothe his tension, even though he wasn't addicted to the substance. Before his first date with Alec, he wasn't sure what to expect, other than that he found the boy and his sincerity attractive. He'd had nothing to lose. Now that they had established a romantic connection with their reciprocated feelings, Magnus felt he had more at stake with their second date. He was getting carried away with himself, he knew, but didn't he always? Perhaps he was a fool to become involved with one of the Nephilim, but already he could feel himself falling for even the small things about Alec, from his polite tendencies and careful hands to the way his entire face lit up when he wore a genuine smile, brightening the cerulean rim around his pupils. Magnus had only seen those moments a few times and he intended on encouraging their occurrence; life as a Shadowhunter offered little to laugh about.
Deciding he ought to do something more useful with himself, Magnus crawled out of bed on all-fours before picking up his dressing gown from the ground and sliding his arms into the sleeves. The material was thin and silk-like and patterned with the colors of a monarch butterfly. Magnus felt no shame that it had come from a clothesline for women.
As he padded down the hall to the main room, a polystyrene foam coffee cup appeared in his grasp and he sipped the caffeinated contents. He had only one appointment for that day – a widow with a ghost problem, specifically her late husband who she claimed to be haunting her - and he'd made sure that he would be left with enough time afterwards to prepare for the evening to come.
When he wasn't partying, the interior of his loft was usually more respectable. He had wiped away the spray paint from his windows and fitted vertical blinds along the ceiling which dropped to the floor. A breeze drifted into the room, causing the plastic slats to clatter noisily against each other. Discovering that the door which lead to the stairwell was open, Magnus closed it firmly before wondering over to the windows and pulling on the cord. Strips of yellow light filtered into the room behind him and he failed to notice the body lying on his sofa. There was a harsh sizzling sound and an irritated gasp of pain which made Magnus turn in surprise and drop his coffee to the ground.
"Pinche idiota!" a voice hissed from the shadows.
"How charming," Magnus murmured indifferently as he dematerialized the spillage from sight with a flick of his hand. "I don't recall inviting any vampires over for a slumber party, so naturally I wasn't expecting to find one lounging on my settee." He tugged on the cord again, restricting the sun rays to a dull glow behind the blinds.
The figure rose slowly from his crouched position, shaking the black curls from his eyes to show the snarl that grew on his young face. He wore jeans and an open white shirt which was now scorched at the fastening and exposed a cross dangling from a thin chain around his neck. A fading burn marked his abdomen. "Your doors were open but you were sleeping. I was waiting for you to rise."
"Then perhaps you should've made yourself known before I opened the blinds." Magnus came over to the seating area and subsided into an armchair, a new cup of coffee in his hand.
"Dios, what are you wearing? You look like a prostitute."
"It's one thing to enter someone's house uninvited, another to make rude remarks about their clothing." He rested a shin over his thigh, offering full view to his modesty. "What do you want, Raphael?"
Raphael scowled in disgust. "You are not funny, warlock." He perched on the arm rest of the sofa, one foot hitched on the cushion seat so that his elbow rested on his knee. "I came to find what you know of Valentine. It has been some weeks and all I hear are the same stories."
"What stories?"
"That Valentine has la Copa Mortal." As Raphael spoke, his eyes lit up with zeal. "He has taken the Mortal Cup and gone. Desaparecido. He cannot be found."
Tapping a finger against his coffee cup, Magnus said, "Then you know about as much as I do."
There was a timid cry from Magnus's feet and when he looked down he found Chairman Meow scrabbling at the armchair, his tail whipping from side to side in agitation. Lifting the cat onto his lap, Magnus tickled fondly behind his ears. "He isn't keen on vampires."
Raphael uttered a scornful grunt. "You think that I care? I hate cats."
"You'll never make friends with an attitude like that," Magnus chastised, paying more attention to Chairman than Raphael.
"I have many friends, unlike you. That is why you have a cat."
"Thank you for reminding me why, after half a century, we're still not friends." With Chairman now curled into his lap, Magnus put his beverage to one side. He rested his elbows on either armrest and made a steeple with his hands. "Now then, it seems highly unlikely that you would wait all night to ask me about Valentine. Information like that could be sought from anyone, if there was anything to tell, which you already know there isn't. It's also rare for you to be doing your own dirty work and even rarer for you to do so without one of your so-called 'friends' accompanying you." His lips brushed against his forefingers. "You wouldn't have come if there was another way to find your answers. You're here because you need to speak with me specifically and you're alone because you want your inquiries kept private."
Raphael was completely still, his features as hard and smooth as a marble statue. Although he had the face of a teenage boy, he wore it with the intense maturity of someone who had experienced an arduous lifetime– something which Magnus immediately understood, except he'd lived about ten of them. Guileful intentions flickered behind Raphael's eyes before his usual glare returned.
"Fine," he muttered and there was a bitter edge to his voice. "But I want you to answer without questions." He rose gracefully from his position and straightened his shirt; the burn on his skin had now faded away completely but his clothing remained singed. "I want to know if you have seen or heard from Camille Belcourt this year."
The name struck a chord in Magnus's heart and bittersweet thoughts he usually suppressed suddenly came to the forefront of his mind. She was nothing but a beautiful memory which used to keep him awake at night for all of the wrong reasons. Evidently Raphael was aware of their history but to what extent Magnus was uncertain. It made sense, however, that if Raphael had come to him, it would be because of her.
Magnus answered honestly. "I haven't had any contact with her for over a century."
"We both know that is a lie."
Taken aback by Raphael's assumption, Magnus said, "What reason would I have for lying? When I left Camille, I left her for good. I haven't seen her since."
"Have you forgotten summer of 1977?"
Magnus pushed his index finger against his temple as he tried to recollect his memories from the seventies. He recalled taking a one week trip to Monte Carlo which ended up in a two-year vacation around France, Italy, Greece and London. The summer which Raphael spoke of was when Magnus has returned to his apartment here in New York.
"Nothing happened – at least, nothing of any significance. And if I remember rightly, problems with the Circle didn't start until a decade later."
Confusion lined Raphael's brow and he shook his head, seeming to be in two minds over a matter. "Dios," he murmured. Eventually he shrugged as if he were now indifferent to any prior concerns and he hooked a thumb in the belt loop of his jeans. "Perhaps I am thinking of another warlock. You are all the same to me. So your answer is no?"
"It is, fortunately."
Raphael nodded solemnly. "She has been away from the clan for a while. A vacation" he added hastily with a glare in his eyes that warned Magnus not to ask him to elaborate on this. "It is better this way but the others are starting to ask questions. I am second in command so they ask me. Even Shadowhunters have asked me. The clan needs a leader but Camille… she is no leader."
"So you've come here not because you want to find her, but because you want to ensure she hasn't returned?"
"If she comes back, the questions will stop. But she cannot lead us. She is not good for the clan." He clenched his hands into fists and his knuckles looked almost white. "If Camille returns to New York, I must know."
"Alright," Magnus said in exasperation, lifting himself out of the armchair and forgetting that Chairman was on his lap. The cat fell to the floor with a displeased meow and fled from the room. "Yet I doubt very much that I'll hear anything before you do. As I said, it's been a very long time since we were last in touch. Camille knows where I am. If she ever intended on speaking with me again, she would've made herself known by now. Are we done here?"
"Yes, we are done."
"I gather you can lead yourself out since you found your own way in without any hassle?"
"Dios mío, I am tired of your joking. It is still daylight, remember?"
Magnus groaned with the realization that Raphael would have to remain in his apartment for the remainder of afternoon and he massaged his forehead with his fingertips. Even though Alec wouldn't arrive until the evening, Magnus would need Raphael to leave as soon as his curse would permit; he couldn't risk him finding out about his date with a Shadowhunter - specifically a male one - unless he wanted every vampire in the Hotel Dumort to know, also. "Fine," he exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air. "But I want you gone as soon as the sun sets."
"You think I want to be here? It hurts my eyes to look at you."
"Raphael, you're more than welcome to sleep in one of the spare rooms," said Magnus wearily. "In fact, I order you to go sleep in one of the spare rooms. I want you out of my hair."
"Vete al infierno," Raphael snarled as he started off down the hallway.
"You hardly need to tell me to go to hell since I'm already going there when I die. And in case you've forgotten, you're going, too!" Magnus called after him, tightening the belt cord around his waist. There was the slam of a door and then, at last, silence. "Vampires," Magnus muttered to a frightened Chairman Meow who had peeped his head around a corner. "Such pleasant creatures."
After he'd opened the blinds to prevent Raphael from coming out again, Magnus dragged himself back to his own bedroom and slumped on the stool at his dressing table. He held his head in his hands, his fingers scrunched in his spiky hair, and he grimaced at his reflection. Sleep had smeared the dark make-up around his eyes so that he looked half-panda rather than half-demon and his metallic nail varnish had chipped.
"You need a holiday," he told himself and his reflection responded with another grimace. Even though he could fix the state of his appearance with a snap of his fingers, he reasoned that it would be worth preserving his magic for his client; he didn't want to be drained of energy before Alec's arrival.
With a heavy hand, he brought the bottle of make-up remover toward him and began wiping at his face. Sighing, he reassured himself that whilst in his dressing gown and sleepy state he may have looked like something he most certainly wasn't, at least he didn't have Raphael's permanent appearance of a pubescent boy.
"Corner of Christopher and Sixth Avenue," Magnus demanded upon diving into the backseat of the vehicle and slamming the door behind him. "And I kindly ask that you step on it." Normally Magnus wouldn't elbow a mundane aside for their taxi unless he felt he had matters of greater urgency to attend to – then again, his matters, whether they were business or personal, were always more important. Nonetheless, today was the worst day to have fallen behind schedule and Magnus didn't have time for manners and cordiality.
"Cops chasing you?" The cab driver asked and he chuckled to himself, clearly pleased with this joke he had probably said to a hundred others who were in a hurry. He was a proud owner of an overgrown mustache which seemed to sprout from nose; it did him no favors.
"No, but I do have a date tonight so, please, just drive."
"You got it," Mr. Mustache replied and only when the vehicle started to move did Magnus relax into his seat.
How his day could become any worse he didn't know. Despite awakening to a promising morning, it would seem that his carefully arranged agenda had been foiled by kismet – the karma points he should've earned for healing Alec Lightwood's injuries free of charge clearly hadn't been recognized. Although, perhaps such an act didn't count when done for the selfish reason of wanting someone to like you.
Magnus fastened the zip of his snakeskin printed jacket, muttering in annoyance when he found a purple stain on his sleeve and he squashed his hands against his spiky hair in order to tame the static strands.
"Rough day?" asked Mr. Mustache, glancing at Magnus through the rear-view mirror.
"You could say that," Magnus replied, almost laughing at the understatement.
"You're telling me! You ever had to drive a woman to the hospital before she gave birth in the backseat of your cab?" Mr. Mustache chuckled again. "I've never gone through so many red lights before in my life."
Magnus murmured impassively; a speeding cab was nothing out of the ordinary, regardless of its reasons, but he decided against elaborating on why his afternoon spent ghost-busting had been worse. In an attempt to prevent further interrogation, Magnus rested his head against the leather behind him and closed his eyes. Yet he soon realized his efforts were futile when the driver spoke again.
"What've you and the lucky lady got lined up tonight, eh?"
When Magnus looked, he saw that the man's eyes were grinning. With his mouth set in an irritated line, he broke the visual contact with him and pulled out his wallet; he'd already decided that he wasn't giving a tip. "Lucky man," Magnus corrected, sliding out a few notes from the pocket. "And if I'm completely honest, I haven't got anything planned because I have no idea what he enjoys doing." Apart from killing demons, Magnus wanted to add. Although, he had the impression that perhaps Alec wouldn't even call that a pastime but rather a duty. "Any suggestions?"
"What about that new movie all the kids are talking about? You know, the one with all the wizards at that magic school –"
"Overrated," Magnus sighed; he hadn't seen the movie but he was tired of mundanes referring to magical beings as 'wizards' when no such people existed. What confused him more is that, although they were familiar with the term 'warlock', they still exercised their imaginations with the thought of white bearded men waving sticks at each other. The notion was so impossible that Magnus cringed for the mundane race.
"Take him out for dinner. You can't go wrong with that."
Up until last Friday, Magnus would've said the same. Then he'd taken Alec to a Downworlder restaurant for their first date and this presumption had been firmly revoked.
Before he could respond, Mr. Mustache asked, "Christopher Street was it?"
"Just on the corner leading onto Sixth Avenue," Magnus directed and once the car had come to a halt, he threw a handful of notes in the spare seat at the front of the vehicle.
The pavement glowed a dull orange under the crepuscular light and Magnus strode with purpose along the street to his apartment, relieved to be free from his obligations. A grin grew on his face as he passed a line of warehouses and ascended the few steps to the entryway of one of the buildings. He hummed merrily, thoughts of Alec on his mind, as he passed through the thick, metal door and bounded up the stairwell to reach his loft.
Chairman Meow greeted him at the door and as he stepped inside he lifted the small tabby cat into the air, arms outstretched.
"Chairman, you are my munchkin," Magnus cooed and he blew a kiss at the whiskered face before him. "If you weren't covered in fur, I would munch on you right now."
"Dios mío," a voice drawled from across the room. "There is something wrong with you."
Magnus's recuperated optimism burst like a bubble around him. "Raphael, why are you still here?"
Placing, Chairman on the floor, he turned his attention to the vampire, who was sprawled on a bean bag with nothing but a towel around his waist and his hair shiny and tousled. It wasn't until then that Magnus realized the TV was on, displaying a graphic scene involving a lot of blood and human death.
"That's not a nice thing to say to your guest," Raphael chastised, a smile curling on his lips.
"You're not my guest. You came here on your own accord and I allowed you to stay so I wouldn't be held accountable for your immediate death. Now, I told you to leave by sunset –"
"Tranquilo, warlock," the vampire said in a monotonous tone. "Relax. I am still waking up –"
"... And you're sitting on Chairman's beanbag!"
Raphael heaved a disinterested sigh. "It's just a stupid cat."
With a flick of his hand, Magnus levitated and then capsized the bean bag, causing Raphael to fall gracelessly to the floor. "I want you dressed and then I want you out."
The vampire, never one to be the subject of mockery, receded from the room before Magnus could blink, leaving a vitriolic whisper of Spanish curses in his wake.
Sighing wearily, Magnus snapped his fingers, cutting the power to the television to quell the screams which blared from the screen. No sooner had silence fallen than a cacophony of vibrations reverberated from the intercom which, to Magnus, sounded like a monophonic rendition of the opening motif to Beethoven's Fifth.
"Name?" he barked into the receiver.
"Um... Christina. Christina Andersen." Despite her youthful voice, Magnus could sense the exigency which lined it. "Should I say my middle name?"
"Not unless you want to waste my time any further. Requisition?"
"What?"
"WHY HAVE YOU CALLED UPON THE HIGH WARLOCK OF BROOKLYN?" he asked in a booming voice.
"I... So, you're Magnus Bane?"
"Yes." Unfortunately, he wanted to add.
"Oh, thank God," Christina effused into the intercom and the rest of her words came out in a panicked babble, "You have no idea how many doors I had to try before yours and I'm running out of time because my friend –"
"I can't help you."
Christina's voice faltered, as if she hadn't rehearsed any lines in the event that he might refuse. "But... but this is an emergency!"
"And this isn't the ER. Surprising as this may sound but I actually have a life outside of work, so unless you've made an appointment –"
"How long does a vampire have left to live once they've been bitten by a werewolf?"
Magnus squeezed his eyes shut as he mentally fought between his moral obligations and his disposition to rebuff last minute clients. "If you're lucky, a day – at most."
At first there was no response and Magnus wondered whether the girl had left or, God forbid, started to cry. But then her voice came through the intercom, clear and undaunted. "Then help me."
"I prefer not to involve myself in disputes among Children of the Night and Moon lest I want to make an enemy of either one for appearing to favor a side."
"But you wouldn't be taking sides because I'm not a vampire!" She paused, as if breathless from her frustration to be heard. "I'm a werewolf."
Pushing harassed fingers through his hair, Magnus replied, "I don't think that ameliorates the situation. Although, regardless of the circumstances, I doubt you could afford me." His statement was harsh yet true; morals aside, he couldn't make a habit of offering his magic for free.
"What if I could? Would you help me – help my friend?
Magnus threw a defeated arm into the air. "Do I even have a choice in the matter?"
"Not really."
"You weren't supposed to answer that," he muttered before hanging up the receiver.
