Hello everyone!
My name is Lauren Williams and I absolutely love the 'Mortal Instruments'! To commemorate my anniversary with TMI- I bring you- my own story!
DISCLAIMER: I only own the plot, unfortunately, how ever much I want to own the characters...(especially Jace)
Prologue:
The phone rang thrice before Simon picked it up.
"Hello? Simon Lewis speaking."
"A-5-Z-9 on Brooke street at 9:30 pm today. Make your way there today alone- otherwise your beautiful wife dies."
Snickering, Simon put up his feet on the coffee table. "What is it George- don't tell me this is another one of your plans to go road-tripping- you know I'm shoulder-deep in work."
"This isn't Mr. Lovelace. Surely, your wife wouldn't approve of you dirtying her prized coffee table?"
With a start, he got up and looked around. No one was in his living room- the room was curtained, with no gap between the fabric. Who could see him?
"There is no use in looking for me, Mr. Lewis, I am everywhere, and yet, nowhere."
Simon was struck speechless for a moment. He realized that the voice did not belong to anyone he knew. When he recovered his voice, he licked his lips and asked: "Who is this?"
"Someone whose bad side you do not want to get on. Do as you're told and your family and friends will be safe."
"How do I know you won't hurt them even if I do do whatever you tell me to?"
A cruel laugh sounded on the other side of the line. "You don't. But that is the best shot you've got at keeping them safe. Just to make sure I'm dead serious, why don't you call your dear friend Clarissa and ask her why she's at the drug store?"
The line went dead.
With twitching fingers, he swiped at his phone:
Ring. Ring. Riiiing.
Ring. Ring. Riiiing.
Ring-
"Hello?"
"Hey, Clary?"
"Oh hey, Si? What's up?"
"Um.. where are you now..?"
A small pause. Then a sigh.
"Um, I don't really wanna tell you-"
"Are you at a drug store?"
Clary sucked in a surprised breath, the laughed.
"Hey, are you here, right now? How did you-"
But Simon had cut the line. He felt cold both inside and outside, though the furnace at his home was still working.
What was happening? Why would anyone want to blackmail him? And more importantly, what did they want from him?
At 9:30 that night, a small silver Bentley made its way to the end of Brooke street and a young man with curly brown hair and glasses got out.
With shaking hands, he placed his phone to his ear:
"I'm here. What do you want me to do?"
A tall man with windblown brown hair, in a long black coat stepped into the warmth of the coffee shop.
Sighing in relief, he sat down at one of the tables facing the window and removed his scarf.
Unbeknownst to him, a dark-haired man sitting in the corner table, wearing unnecessary sunglasses to block out the non-existent sunlight took a picture of him and smiled to himself.
Two minutes later, as the brown-haired dude left the table with his latte in his hand. His name, Jordan, was written in curling letters, with balck marker, on the white Styrofoam of his cup. As he made his way to the glass doors, the Mr. sunglasses crashed into him.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry- I wasn't even looking!" the latter said in a falsely apologetic tone.
"It's alright."
The poor fellow walked away, not realizing that a small tracking device, emitting a soft red light was now inside his coat pocket.
Magnus would never have considered himself to be a man of honor or loyalty a year ago. But that was before Raphael came into his life- and way before Ragnor did.
Being the owner of a large bar, he naturally wasn't one to discourage drug use. And that suggested that morals weren't part of his personality. And even before this phase of his life…. Well, he hadn't exactly been the model of good behavior.
However, closeness to others seemed to have alleviated his sense of self-pity and lack of values.
Or perhaps, it was just the amount of faith that had been thrust on him.
"Two martinis!" a blond man said, slamming his hand on the bar table and effectively cutting him off from his thoughts.
The club's multi-colored lights seemed to make the man's hair shine in a myriad of colors. Magnus was fascinated. Perhaps he should dye his hair white-blond and let the lights do the job that his hair glitter did?
But no, he would never do that. His jet-black hair and gold-green eyes were his best attributes, after all.
Sliding the man's drinks across the smooth table, he noticed that no second person had joined the blond man at the table for the second drink.
Suddenly Ragnor burst out of the dancing crowd, looking very disgruntled. Magnus was unsurprised and very amused. Clubs were never Ragnor's scene - he always stuck out like a sore thumb, what with his crisp suit and gelled, combed hair.
"Magnus! The most horrifying thing has happened! The stocks are going down extremely fast! Our exchange deals won't work if this goes on!"
The addressed barman sighed, whipping out a glass and filling it with red wine. Offering it to the harried man, he said with an air of mock calm: "You do realize, Ragnor, that I understood absolutely nothing of what you said just now?"
Ragnor rolled his eyes, taking the proffered drink and taking a seat. "Whatever, you uneducated brute. Where's Raphael? Now there's a fine conversation maker- I wonder how he puts up with you and your fantasies."
Magnus placed a hand over his heart in a display of mock shock and hurt.
"You have offended me Ragnor. Very deeply. I suggest you never set foot into this bar ever again and find solace in my roommate's company back at my apartment."
"That I'll do." He grunted and set down his glass. A moment later, he walked off after giving Magnus a very unceremonious pat on the shoulder.
Magnus rolled his eyes at the typical Ragnor behavior and shook his head, smiling to himself.
The blond man in front of him chuckled, making the Asian barman look up at him. Something about the man gave Magnus an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Ragnor Fell is an unlikely companion for a hardened criminal like you, isn't he?" he asked Magnus, entwining his fingers together on the table and studying him through his aviator sunglasses with a detached attitude.
Magnus froze, and a chilly sense of dread and fear filled his abdomen.
The man continued, knowing that he had the former's attention.
"It would be a pity if he and Raphael Santiago were suddenly…. murdered…wouldn't it? Old Asmodeus wouldn't mind either."
At Magnus's completely shocked expression, the man's smile widened into a cruel one. How did this man know the name of his one real enemy? Or his true identity? How much did this man know?
Magnus licked his lips. "What…. What do you mean?" he asked in a bare whisper that somehow the man heard over the thrumming music.
The man reached into his black trench coat and took out a phone. After a few taps, he slid it across the very table Magnus had slid drinks a few thousand times before.
The screen displayed a picture of Raphael and Ragnor at Magnus's apartment, with the latter grinning at something the other had said.
The pressed gray suit and the date at the bottom of the picture confirmed what Magnus's instincts already knew- the picture had been taken at that very minute.
Even more shocked, Magnus looked up at the man, who was now sipping the rest of his drink.
"Who are you? What do you want from me?"
He was not going to let the only two people who mattered to him die. He was not going to let their innocence get extinguished in the already dark world of twisted lies and insincere wretches.
The man leaned forward, and when his face was cast into the light, the glittery-haired man gasped. An ugly scar ran from one side of his face to the other, distorting what would have been a handsome face. Cold, dark eyes glittered like the depths of hell.
"I, happen to have an elaborate plan- and you, Magnus Bane, have the most important role of all."
Leaving a small business card on the bar table, the man disappeared into the crowd, leaving the second martini for Magnus , who immediately grabbed it and gulped it up in one go. Things had gotten shitty.
An abandoned warehouse stood near the hill, a poor remainder of what it had been before. The shattered windows and mottled walls accentuated the creepiness of the lonely building. Wolves often skirted the edges of the hill, the dirty scum-filled pond behind it and the nearby stretch of woods, but today, the warehouse maintained the air of tranquil, unpleasant eeriness.
No one lived within a mile of the rumored haunted mill, so no one heard the echoing gunshot and the shrill shrieks of a the tortured man inside.
A tall figure walked out a minute later, wiping his hands casually on a cloth, as though he hadn't just left a man to bleed.
"Never." He vowed, aware that no one could hear him. "Never will anyone get the better of me, again. I claim all that is rightfully mine."
He looked up at the starry sky, the only witness to his oath.
"And so it begins." He whispered, the wind sweeping his words over the valley, to the city that lay beyond- in a cold, deadly promise to those who had wronged him.
So ... review?
Please?
Pretty please?