Chapter One

He is not a Man. He is a Storm with Skin.

Catarina Loss knocked on the solid oak door. Once. Twice. Three times. It swung open before her knocking had reached the desperation of four.

"I'd recognize that door destroying knock anywhere. Care to kick it down while you're at it?" The warlock on the other side's voice dripped with sarcasm as she pushed past him into his loft. "What's on your mind, Cat?" Catarina ran a hand through her braids and blew out a breath. She must have been running. In actual fact, now that she shook off her dripping coat (onto Magnus' 17th Century Venetian rug, to his annoyance) he noticed that she still had on her nurses scrubs.

"It's…Idris," she sighed. He shrugged.

"You'll have to be more specific than that, Sweetheart."

"I've just had that Santiago vampire corner me about it. He asked if the warlocks knew anything about a new Consul. A new Manhattan Consul. Sent from Idris. He's coming this week, apparently." Magnus couldn't understand the panic radiating from his closest friend. A new Consul wasn't a terrifically huge phenomenon, especially not to the Downworld. His blank expression made Catarina continue. "His name is Mitchell Freeworld. Raphael seemed really tense about this guy, so I researched him. He's an ex-Circle member, Magnus. Got out before the Uprising, but…"

"Catarina, the Lightwoods were Circle Members too. As were Jocelyn and Luke. How does that make him any different?" Catarina reached down to her coat and pulled her phone out of the pocket. Magnus could already see the pool of water soaking into his centuries old rug. Lovely.

"Manhattan hasn't had a real, long-term Consul in years, and yeah, after everything that's happened here, then there should obviously be suspicion from the Clave, but this man…" she showed Magnus a picture of the man that worried her. The man was dressed neatly in a white suit, with a seraph blade at his side like a walking stick. He was hard to age, but Magnus guessed he was roughly sixty. Possibly older, but definitely not younger. He seemed tall, though there was no indication in the photograph to prove this, and he was large in stature. His face was as pale as a vampires and held no smile. Runes carved their way around his hands, and a stamina Rune took its place on his neck, the opposite side to where Alec's deflection Rune was. No glimmer of emotion seeped through him. Only coldness and ice, like his eyes. His hair was the only thing that was unkempt. It was white, light and feathery. It didn't suit him. Something about this man screamed recognition at Magnus, but the warlock couldn't place it. He didn't know him. Magnus handed Catarina back her phone as rain pelted against the window panes.

"I don't know about him, Magnus," Catarina sighed as she pulled her coat back on. It hardly seemed worth her while taking it off, so Magnus' rug was destroyed for no apparent reason. "There's something about him. Raphael was one freaked out vampire."

"I'll ask him about it, if it makes you feel any better," he offered, crossing his arms. He noticed a tear in his wine coloured jacket while he did, and with a flick of his fingers, blue sparks sewed it up again.

"Be sure to. And the Lightwood boy, too." Magnus loved Catarina with all his heart. She and Ragnor had been his best friends and most loyal companions for centuries. Now that Ragnor was gone, Magnus realized with a pang in his heart, that Catarina was all that more dear to him. She wasn't replacing Ragnor, no one ever could, but she could help him move forward, as he would help her. However, if there was one thing that bugged Magnus about her, was her massive distaste for Nephilim. That was understandable after all the hate Downworlders had been showed by them in the past. They both remembered times when it was safer hidden from the angel-blooded heroes than demons and rogue Downworlders put together. But times were changing, and that was all down to Alec or 'the Lightwood boy' as Catarina called him. He wasn't a boy. He was a man. He was his man. He didn't need Alec's mortality issue right now. They would tackle that hurdle when they came to it, and he dreaded that day with all his heart. He shoved it to the back of his mind. He didn't contradict his friend on this matter, however. Now was not the time. She was on edge enough without him pushing her off it.

"I certainly will," was all he said as drops of rain from Catarina's coat spattered onto his face.

"Right. I've got to get back to Madzie."

"Bring her next time," Magnus smiled as he thought of the little warlock girl he rescued. So much hardship and grief in her young life. He wanted no more to ever touch her. He couldn't shelter her forever, though.

"As if I could wrestle her off of Alec," she smiled, pulling up her hood. She clicked her fingers and lilac sparks materialized into an umbrella. It was black and plain. Magnus would have added glitter. As she closed the door behind her, he thought of Mitchell. He thought of the surname 'Freeworld'. Where had he heard it? Perhaps it was an old Shadowhunter name, such as Herondale or Fairchild. He picked his phone off of the counter top and searched his contacts. The first name to appear was 'Alexander'. His finger hovered over the screen. He didn't press it. He turned to look out of the large, balcony window. Rain pattered against it. It was cold and dark outside. Grey and black were the only colours above, and yellow New York lights shone below, distorted through the panes.

He turned off his phone.

Izzy kicked the punching bag again and again. She knew she should have been happy that they defeated Valentine just two and a half weeks before. Though Jace acted strange sometimes, everyone else seemed happy. But looks could be deceiving. As she peeled back the layers of the people she knew, cared about or loved, she could see through the cracks of their smiles.

She thought of her parents, unable to stay in the same room as each other. Though Maryse was strong, she was broken in ways a Shadowhunter never should be. She was brokenhearted. Izzy hated Robert for that.

She thought of Max, who was so strong and brave for a nine year old. He was proud of himself for standing up to Sebastian, or Jonathan as they should have called him, but never did. If you looked close enough though, you could see the fear within his eyes. He had crawled to her room, injured and bleeding, before passing out, and she wasn't there for him. Sebastian had nearly killed him, and she couldn't imagine the fear that ran through him, knowing that he couldn't fight back, couldn't win. He wasn't as good as Sebastian. He wasn't good enough.

Alec was happy now, she knew that. Magnus made him happy. They belonged together, and only to each other. Anyone could see that, even Maryse could, though she preferred to look away. One day Robert would. One day Alec would be able to look every one of the Lightwoods in the eye, with his love by his side, and be happy. He was there with Izzy, he was as there as he was going to get with Max, but his parents would be there one day. There with him and with Magnus. One day…

Jace was victorious. Jace was a champion. Of course he knew that. Or at least he should have. But ever since the battle at Lake Lyn with Valentine, he was different. He wasn't Jace. She couldn't place it, but she had presumed he had shocked himself. His father was dead. Not his biological father, and not his adoptive Lightwood father, but the one in the middle. The one that shaped him so brutally into the warrior he had become. He hated him. He was a monster. He was still his father, neither biological nor adoptive, but now he was gone.

Clary was Valentine's daughter, but she felt no love loss for him. He was a monster and she saw that. She was the hero of the hour, she was the heroine from the storybooks. But she had lost the most important part of her in the most terrible way possible. Jocelyn should have celebrated her glory with them, with her, but she wasn't. It wasn't just Clary affected. Alec had guilt so crippling, had Magnus not arrived just in time, he would be dead now too. Luke had lost his the love of his life. It's so strange how one person can influence so many, but there it is.

Finally, she thought of herself. Her addiction had destroyed her, but she was strong. She was resilient, and she, despite how awful she felt, was a good Shadowhunter. She wasn't weak, and she wasn't afraid. She thought of Raphael, how they could never work, and she knew that in her heart, but how she wished they could. How one vampire could get under her skin so much, she didn't understand. Their relationship was one based on addiction and unhealthy desires. As Raphael said, one slip up, and they could be back there. How mundane. How mundane addictions were. Angel-blooded creatures should be better than that. Perhaps there was a little bit of mundane in everyone, whether human, Nephilim or Downworlder.

She punched the bag too hard. It spun off of the rack, landing with a thump. Hey knuckles were bruised and bloody, and her jet black hair stuck to her back and forehead. Her clothes were sticky and her make-up ran down her face. She looked like she had been crying. Only when she reached up and felt the wetness of her cheeks, did she realize she had been. Crying was for mundanes, too. She dragged the back for her hand across her eyes and went to pick up the bag.

"Isabelle," came a voice from behind her. It was Robert's, why he was in the Institute right now was a mystery, but she didn't turn around straight away. She did it slow and carefree, as to show him that she was still angry with him. That she might always be.

"Yes?" she muttered, then jolted. He wasn't alone. Standing beside him was a taller man in a grey suit and feathery white hair. He stared at her, and she felt scrutinized under his gaze. She felt uneasy with just a black training tank top on. She shrugged on her hoodie, despite her being too hot for it, just to cover up. He was freaking her out. His ice cold eyes were strange. One worked, the other was either lazy or glass.

"This is my daughter, Isabelle," Robert said, gesturing to her. The man nodded in curt response. "Izzy, this is Mitchell Freeworld, the new Manhattan Consul." Izzy nodded. He would be like Aldertree, she already knew that much, but at least Aldertree was pleasant to look at.

"And the boys?" Mitchell's voice was gravelly. Aldertree had a nice voice, at least. Robert paled slightly. Izzy wondered why.

"Well, the youngest is Max, he's only nine, but he's got a great future ahead of him. In fact, once he took on Jon…"

"I want to hear about the other one. Alan or something? The one with the demon blooded boyfriend." Izzy's fists tightened. She heard her father gargle a noise in his throat before pressing forward.

"Alexander. My eldest. Head of the Institute."

"Where is he? Surely the Head should answer to the Consul. Or at the very least, welcome him in." Mitchell stifled a laugh before reaching out a hand to pat Robert's shoulder mockingly. "Or, do you already know where he is?" Robert's face reddened in embarrassment. If he wasn't going to stick up for her brother, she would.

"I don't see how having a warlock partner makes him any less capable of running the Institute." Her ferocity shocked even herself. Mitchell seemed amused. Robert looked like he wanted to die.

"It's not the sexual orientation that intrigues me," he scoffed. "I know gay people. I know gay Shadowhunters. I don't, however, know Shadowhunter who openly goes out with a Downworlder. What did you say it was, a warlock?" He spoke of Magnus as if he were a half-breed of dog. "No offence, Robert, but I'd be worried, if I were you. The Angel only knows how dangerous that kind of thing can be when you get it pissed off. One argument about curtain colours, and your son is toasted Nephilim. In fact…" He never got to finish. Maryse whipped into the room behind the men, her voice welcoming, yet clipped.

"Consul Freeworld," she smiled, though it was fake and icy. "Perhaps you have seen enough of the training facility. I assure you there are more interesting parts of the Institute yet to explore." She stepped aside to let the men pass, Robert ducking his eyes not to meet her gaze. She locked eyes with her daughter and gave a sad smile.

She heard everything.