Part Two

Magnus Bane raced along the streets of New York, refusing to allow anything to get in his way. He dodged around people, vehicles, and buildings, making his way as fast as possible to the New York Institute in Manhattan.

He had to save Alec Lightwood's life.

Magnus had been in his apartment, deciding how to redecorate, when he had received a fire message out of nowhere. Startled, he had taken the message and immediately recognized the thin handwriting on the note.

It simply said, "Alec Lightwood has been poisoned by a Greater Demon."

Magnus had dropped the note and left immediately for the Institute, paying no heed for the fact that Alec might be halfway to the Silent City by now. He paid no heed to the fact that Alec could very well be dead by the time he reached the Institute. He didn't even stop long enough to remember he could take transportation to the Institute instead of running. He didn't care. All he could think about was getting to Alec and healing him.

Somehow.

He knew a lot of cures for demon poisoning, but he'd never really cured poison from a Greater Demon before. How was he going to heal Alec? Could he even manage it?

Don't think about that right now, Magnus thought. Just get to him.

As the Institute loomed in front of him, Magnus had a sudden, blood-chilling thought: how was he going to get in to the Institute? It wasn't like the door would be unlocked and, it being guarded under Clave protection, he wouldn't be able to open it with magic. When he reached the door, he tugged on the handle desperately, but it wouldn't budge. Attempting to calm himself, Magnus laid both of his hands on the door, closed his eyes, and bowed his head. "My name is Magnus Bane," he said softly. "I am an 800 year old warlock. There is a Nephilim, Alexander Lightwood, who has been poisoned and is dying in the Institute infirmary. I am capable of healing him, but I must be admitted into this building!" He had to restrain himself from screaming this last.

Magnus stood there, hands shaking slightly where they rested on the door, his breath coming in gasps from his sprint through New York City. He waited impatiently for the door to open, to do anything other than stand there, solid and immovable as ever. With a shout of frustration, Magnus threw his shoulder against the door, pounded it with his hands, and tried to break the door down. He tried until his shoulders were bruised and his head was reeling.

Setting his shoulders and taking a step back, Magnus took a deep breath and sent power zinging to his fingertips. Blue sparks flew as he gathered his hands together.

That is not a wise idea, Magnus.

Magnus whirled around, his face glowing with the blue light from his hands. Standing before him, parchment colored robe sweeping the ground, stood a Silent Brother, his hood drawn down over his face. "Let me in," Magnus growled.

Calm yourself first and we shall talk, the Silent Brother said, his voice echoing uncomfortably in Magnus's head. He'd always hated that feeling.

Slowly, Magnus composed himself, his hands falling to his sides, devoid of magic. His eyes blazed as they looked at the Silent Brother. "Brother Zachariah, I formally request entrance into the New York Institute."

Brother Zachariah reached up and lowered his hood, revealing a face that was younger than any Silent Brother, though it held look the weight of years. It was a face that Magnus knew well. Why are you so willing to do this, Magnus? So willing to do this for free, no less? If Silent Brothers could sound snarky, Magnus was sure this was what it sounded like.

"Who said I was doing this for free?" Magnus asked guardedly.

Because I sent my fire message less than half an hour ago, and yet here you are. You must have –

"Jem," Magnus said softly but forcefully. "Let me into this place."

Brother Zachariah's expression did not change, thought Magnus felt a change in his demeanor. I do not use that name anymore. But I will allow it this once. Brother Zachariah swept past Magnus and laid his hand on the door of the Institute. It opened easily under his hand. I do hope you know what awaits you through this door, Magnus.

Magnus, who had started through the door, turned back to his old friend with a hard expression, but a gleam of something unidentifiable in his eyes and the ghost of a smirk playing across his lips. "Come now. Who knows what lies behind every door?" And with that, Magnus ran into the Institute, not sparing a glance back.

Brother Zachariah stood still for a moment, staring after the retreating warlock, then quietly moved forward and said to himself before shutting the door, "Godspeed, my friend."


Magnus threw open the door of the Infirmary to find Isabelle Lightwood sitting at her brother's side, holding his hand in hers. She looked up when he entered, her battled reflexed kicking in as she began to flick out her whip. She stopped when she saw who it was. "Magnus? What are you doing here?" she asked, standing up, Alec's hand still in hers.

"You both are wound so tight," Magnus said as calmly as he could manage, walking over to the other side of Alec's bed. "Which demon was it?"

"What?" Isabelle looked at him, and he resisted the temptation to snap at her. "How'd you know Alec was…"

"Isabelle, dear, while I would love to chat about my methods, Alec is dying and I may be able to save him. Now which Greater Demon was it?"

She looked slightly taken aback by Magnus's forcefulness, but she shook it off. "Uh, Abbadon. Demon of Fear."

Magnus's lip curled into a sneer of distaste. "Wonderful." He looked down to study Alec's condition. He felt his heart constrict. He could tell they had tried to patch up his wound, but he could also tell that no iratze would work on this. Carefully Magnus examined the wound under the worried and protective gaze of Isabelle. It was jagged, the poison spreading out through the veins, making it look sickly and infected, as if the flesh were already starting to decay. A wave of despair washed over Magnus, but he pushed it down, focusing only on the cures he knew for demon poisoning. He couldn't look at Alec's face, could barely look at the wound. How could he heal such a devastating blow?

Taking a deep breath, Magnus reached deep into his being to find the fire that burned at his center, the hissing and sparking life of his magic. Slowly he tapped into some of that power, channeling it to his fingertips, to his hands. Blue sparks played across his knuckles, illuminating the wound. The blue light should have made the injury look worse, but instead it made the poison in the veins glow red, demonic magic reacting to demonic magic.

"Now would be a good time to leave," Magnus said quietly, absently, focusing on the magic beneath his hands. "And don't bother arguing," he said, sensing Isabelle's imminent protests. "The fewer distractions in this room, the easier it will be for me to focus on removing the poison from Alec's system. You hovering over me will only hinder his recovery."

Magnus did not look up as he heard the clack of Isabelle's heels and the soft thud as the door closed behind her. He turned his full attention to his task. He delved deeper into his supply of magic and went to work.


Pain. A sharp, all-consuming pain that blaze through the darkness. That was all he knew.

Suddenly, a softer, lighter, burning sensation spread through the pain. A cooling fire, he thought vaguely before the thought vanished into darkness, though even that was quickly fading in favor of a soft blue light. The light seemed to work as an anesthetic, relieving the pain. He sighed (or thought he did) as a sense of well-being radiated through him. His body relaxed. He slowly drifted into unconsciousness, a different kind of darkness, as a sound came to him, like the slow, steady beat of a heart.

When he opened his eyes again, all the memories of the battle rushed back to him and Alec sat upright, breathing heavily. He was greeted by a dull ache throbbing from his midsection, a pounding in his head making him dizzy. Groaning, he reached up and massage his temple with one hand, the other holding him up.

"You should probably lie down again. You aren't quite back to normal yet."

Alec, vision still shaky, felt a firm but gentle hand push him back onto the mass of pillow on the bed. Immediately the throbbing in his head lessened and his breathing began to steady. He blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands, attempting to clear his vision and see who it was who had spoken. Eventually he was able to see the shape of a person leaning forward in a chair next to his bed. A person wearing a simple black cloak open over a simple black t-shirt. A person with spiky black hair.

"Magnus…" Alec croaked, his throat raw. "What…what are you…" He broke off, his words coming in painful gasps. Magnus grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table. Placing a hand behind Alec's head, he lifted the glass to Alec's lips. Cool water flowed down Alec's throat, healing his cracked and parched lips. "Thanks," he said softly, his voice clear.

Magnus nodded, set the glass on the table, and leaned forward again, folding his hands carefully in front of him. He looked into Alec's eyes. Alec felt something stir in his chest. "How are you feeling?"

The look Alec saw him Magnus's eyes was one of worry and…something else, something Alec's aching head didn't feel up to deciphering. Closing his eyes for a moment, Alec said, "Sore. Tired." He attempted a weak smile. "But better than I should, under the circumstances. What happened?"

"I healed you," Magnus said softly.

Alec opened his eyes and looked over at Magnus in surprise. "You did?"

Magnus nodded, running a hand tiredly over his spikes, denting them slightly. Alec wanted to reach out his hand and fix them. "I did."

Alec wished he had a clever response, a smart quip, anything that could break the sudden, inexplicable tension between them. Instead he just said, "Thank you, Magnus. I am in your debt."

Magnus looked at Alec in amazement. "In my debt?" he asked, as if he didn't understand.

"Yeah," Alec said. "You saved my life. And warlocks never work for free." Alec smiled at Magnus. "Especially you, from my understanding. I have to owe you something."

Magnus smiled wearily and took Alec's hand in his own, tracing an idle finger over the scars along Alec's wrist, almost as if he didn't realize he was doing it. Alec felt electricity run beneath his skin at the touch. Must be an aftereffect of the magic, he thought. "Alexander," said Magnus, "you do owe me a favor." His eyes flickered to Alec's face and back to their hands so quickly that Alec doubted whether it happened at all. "You owe me the courtesy of asking for nothing."

Alec was slightly startled by this. The slight formal lilt to Magnus's words surprised him. They seemed to come from someone older, someone not wearing glitter eyeshadow. It seemed out of character, and yet…Alec suddenly remembered that Magnus was older than he seemed. He caught a glimpse of a man from another time, a time when speech like this was used for casual conversation. When women wore corsets and men wore coattails and propriety was the law. But it was only a glimpse, and Alec was again staring at the glittering, ostentatious warlock holding his hand. "What…what do you mean?" he asked after a long pause.

"I mean that I require no payment for saving your life, Alexander. I was never hired in the first place." Magnus wasn't looked at Alec as he said this, but even so Alec saw the warlock's eyes darken slightly.

"But…but I thought…"

"You thought they called me instead of the Silent Brothers to keep this from the Clave." Magnus had a slight, brittle edge to his tone that made Alec flip his hand over to grasp Magnus's, where it was still tracing his runes.

"Well, if you weren't hired, why'd you come? How'd you know to come?"

Magnus finally looked directly at Alec, a quick, mysterious smile glinting mischievously on his lips. "To answer your second question, a warlock has his ways. As for your first," Magnus said, dropping his voice and leaning close to Alec, "when you live as long as I do, you learn to keep around the interesting people. And you, Alexander Lightwood, are much too interesting to lose so easily."

Alec felt a slight blush rise to his cheeks. Magnus's grin grew wider at the color. Alec looked away, but not before he saw Magnus yawn widely while attempting to hide it discreetly behind the hand that wasn't holding his. "You must be exhausted," Alec remarked, noticing the small shadows under Magnus's eyes. "You should sleep. Replenish your strength."

Magnus shook his head. "No, no, I'm fi – I'm fine…" He was cut off by another deep yawn.

"Go," Alec said softly, smiling at Magnus, who couldn't help but smile back. "You just saved my life today; you deserve a rest. Besides, I'm sure Isabelle's dying to see if I'm okay. How you managed to keep her from the room is beyond me." He removed his hand from Magnus's a little reluctantly before settling it back on the sheets. "I'll see you later."

Magnus's gaze intensified at the obvious implications in his words. Alec's heart jumped, but he resolutely held his gaze, staring into Magnus's gold green eyes with his deep blue ones, refusing to break contact. After what felt like an eternity, Magnus said, with a Chesire Cat grin on his face, "Is that a promise?"

Alec looked at Magnus – really looked at him – and slowly, confidently, said, "Yes."

The warlock nodded, and walked down the aisle of the Infirmary to the door. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned his head slightly and said over his shoulder, "Get well, Alexander." The door closed behind him with a thud that resounded in the near-empty room. Alec listened as the sound died. Then, a warm glow in his chest, he closed his eyes and dreamed of blue fire.


Magnus slumped briefly against the door of the infirmary, closing his eyes and breathing a sigh of relief, releasing all the tension of the last three hours. He had gone through many stressful situations in his very long life. He had healed many people and seen many people die. He knew how to deal with these sorts of situations.

This, he knew, was different from all of them.

"Is he alright? What happened in there? Magnus, answer me, dammit!"

He straightened and opened his eyes to find Isabelle storming towards him, looking so worried that she might kill him if he answered incorrectly. He quickly composed himself. "He's alright, Isabelle. He's sleeping now. I think you should let him."

"I take offense at your implication," Isabelle said. Magnus resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His gaze softened when Isabelle said, "But he's really okay?"

Magnus nodded. "Yes, he's alright. He was even conscious, for a few minutes. He wanted to know how I kept you out of the Infirmary while I worked."

Isabelle laughed softly. "What did you tell him?"

"That I kicked you out and my natural wit and charm compelled you to do my bidding."

Isabelle snorted attractively. Magnus admired her skill. "Yeah, right. I'm going to go in, be there when he wakes up." She brushed past him, then stopped with her hand on the door. She looked over at Magnus and said, "Thank you, Magnus. For saving him." With that, she opened the door and walked in. It shut with a solid thud behind her, echoing in the empty hallway. Magnus rolled his eyes at this. Everything echoed in the Institute; it was the Shadowhunter's penchant for solemn, self-important theatrics.

He left the Institute without running into anyone else, for which he was grateful. He didn't know if he could deal with anymore Shadowhunters right now. He made his way back to his apartment on the train, thinking of nothing in particular. He let his mind wander as he gazed out the window at New York City. His city. His thoughts returned to Alec. He thought of the panic that had taken him over at the thought of Alec dying. He thought of how he hadn't spared a second thought to rushing over to the Institute, of how his only concern had been to see Alec, to get to him. He thought of what that meant.

The New York skyline rushed by, the lights glittering against the sunset.