Disclaimer - I am borrowing these beautiful, magnificent characters. I hope some day to create some of my own, but for now, credit goes to Cassandra Clare for a brilliant mind and imagination. (PS Ms. Clare, if you are reading this, thank you a million times over for creating this world for my imagination to play in. I hope you like what you see.)
Chapter 1:
He sat as quietly as he could. His hands were tied behind his back - with what he wasn't sure but when he tried to wriggle free the sting and burn was quick to stop him. His eyes were covered and he had been gagged at first, but after proving he could be quiet, they'd let him go without. Whoever 'they' were.
Magnus Bane had been alive a long time. He'd been almost everywhere there was to go in the world, and a few other less savoury dimensions besides. He picked up foreign languages easily, plus he had the advantage of a long, long life and could take his time. It was a skill that had come in handy countless times in his life; but the present was not one of those times.
His captors spoke to each other in what Magnus figured was an ancient dialect, something that had gone extinct. It implied a cult. Whatever it was, when they'd approached him on the street not far from his loft in Brooklyn, it had distracted him enough for someone to approach him from behind and drug him with something strong enough to knock him out in seconds. They'd worn hoods, he remembered that, so he couldn't recall any specific features about them. His shoulder still hurt, even now, at the injection site.
They did seem to understand him though. If he asked for a drink, someone would hold a bottle of water to his lips. When his stomach betrayed him and growled, someone delivered something akin to beef jerky to his mouth. It wasn't something he would have ever asked for but he savoured it and chewed slowly. Even so far as the call of nature, he'd been helped to his feet and assisted (which he very much did mind, but when the alternative was wetting himself or his bladder exploding…)
But they didn't answer his questions, didn't offer conversation. And so he sat, or laid down, in the dark and waited. He'd drift in and out of sleep - boredom killed.
He'd been moved twice. When he'd woken up initially, he was in a vehicle - the back of a van he figured because his legs were stretched out and there were at least 3 other people and no safety belts.
They'd made him leave the van at some point, guiding him the whole way and he'd been sat down on the floor in a room. He smelled canvas and a mustiness and it was very warm. The walls seemed to whisper and sway if there was a breeze, so he assumed it was a tent of some sort.
He was sweating through his clothes while they'd stayed there and one of his captors had 'helped' by cutting away the long sleeves of the cashmere sweater he'd been wearing. That left a bad taste in his mouth despite the relief from the heat - Alec had given him that sweater.
Ironically, it had been the first time that Magnus had ventured out of his apartment since they'd broken up and he'd put it on in case he ran into Alec, not that he'd expected to.
He'd spent weeks going over what had happened between them and realized that he truly missed him. He'd forgiven Alec for what he'd done - it was easy to be duped by Camille. Alec had such an innocent way about him. Magnus couldn't deny that was one of the qualities he'd loved most.
It was habit, at first, that told Magnus that he didn't have to worry - Alec would find him. But then he realized that they hadn't spoken in weeks. Magnus hadn't returned his calls and there had been fewer texts. Maybe he wouldn't realize Magnus was missing. And who else would? Who else was there, regularly, in his life?
That was when he realized he could be in real trouble and his heart sank.
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Love, SV xxoo