Magnus Bane was not a pushover.
A powerful warlock, Magnus was brilliant at most things and always left a trail of glitter behind to prove that he knew it. He had lived hundreds of years and would live hundreds more; he could perform magic more advanced than most of his kind and he'd made a prosperous career with this fortuitous ability. He was colorful and extravagant and the High Warlock of Brooklyn for a reason.
But he was definitely not a pushover.
In Magnus's line of work, one couldn't afford to have a commiserative heart. Standards had to be set and charitable services were to be avoided. That wasn't to say, however, that Magnus hadn't a heart at all; there were always exceptions - Alec Lightwood being one of them.
Magnus could have refused Christina's plea. He could have informed the Clan leader (or in this case, Raphael, the Second-in-command) and let him take it up with the Clave to punish the culpable werewolf.
In other words, he could have let the vampire die.
Upon opening the main door at the bottom of the stairwell, Christina thrust a small trinket into his palm, warm from having previously been held in her clammy grip.
"Come on," she cried, one hand closing over his fingers as the other tugged at his forearm to encourage his haste. The girl had impressive strength despite her short stature, although the lycanthropy would be to blame for that. Her freckled face, framed by defiant waves of strawberry blonde hair, was filled with determination as she pulled. And yet, behind the enkindling yellow flecks of her irises, Magnus saw undeniable fear. She looked barely 16.
"Lead the way," Magnus commanded in a lackluster tone; he refrained from raising his eyebrows at the sight of blood on the front of her checked shirt.
As he walked alongside Christina, taking long strides to match the pace of her jogging, he unfurled his fingers. Pressed into his palm was a small, silver ring, bearing an uncut emerald stone. The thin shank broke out around the head into delicate tendrils which held the gemstone in place and on the inner side of the band he found the Latin words do ut des engraved into the metal.
"It isn't often you find a werewolf in possession of silver. I take it this is your payment?" Magnus asked, twirling the ring between his fingers.
"Is it enough?"
He pocked the jewel. "Was it yours?"
Christina stopped at the edge of a curb. "Would you believe me if I said it was given to me?"
"That depends on the story behind it."
After the brief traffic had cleared, they crossed the road to the other side where Christina then turned down a narrow street. It was not unlike the one Magnus lived down with its strip of warehouses on either side of them and garbage that littered the pavement. Except there was little evidence of any life and the further down they walked, the thicker the silence felt.
"My father gave it to my mother during their final year at the Academy." Christina paused, as if she were waiting for Magnus to interject, but he only listened. "'I give so that you will give,'" she said, translating the inscription on the ring. "I used to think it was a declaration of his love, like he was promising my mother all of his love and asking for her to do the same." She gave a small, bitter laugh. "It wasn't until I grew older that I realized it wasn't romantic at all."
"Your name isn't from a Shadowhunter family I'm familiar with."
"That's because Christina Andersen isn't my real name."
Before Magnus could probe her further, the girl suddenly broke into a run toward one of the warehouses where a body was slumped against the metal shutter. He watched as she knelt to the ground and pulled the limp form so that their head rested on her lap; she swept black strands of hair from their face.
"Jesus, Vivian!" she cried. "You were supposed to stay inside."
As Magnus came closer, he could see the sweat shining on Vivian's face, the blood she expelled past her sallow lips as she tried to find her words and the dark red stain at the collar of her blouse which streaked down the sleeve.
Speaking with a raspy voice, Vivian said, "I thought... I thought we were back in Phoenix." She touched a skeletal hand to Christina's face and Magnus noticed that her nails had been ripped from their beds.
"The werewolf bite is causing her to hallucinate," he advised as he crouched down and balanced on the balls of his feet, his elbows resting on his knees. The leather jacket he was wearing earlier had been replaced with a long trench coat and the hem dragged in the rivulets of dirty water and blood which lined the cracks in the concrete.
"We're in Brooklyn, remember?" Christina said, taking Vivian's hand. The way she held it, with such tenderness in her grip and ease in her touch, made Magnus question whether there was more than friendship between them.
The vampire slowly blinked as she reassessed her true surroundings. "But it felt so real." Her bloodshot eyes were sunken in their sockets and, upon discerning Magnus, she narrowed them. "Who's this?"
Magnus gestured to himself, cobalt blue flames playing gently at his fingertips. "This is Magnus Bane –"
"You told a warlock?" Vivian hissed to Christina as she tried to scramble away from him, lacking all the grace that vampires usually possessed.
"The High Warlock of Brooklyn, actually," corrected Magnus, the flames vanishing. "And whilst I enjoy spending my time in alleyways, I haven't got all evening."
"He can help you, Viv," explained Christina, blinking away the presentiment which brimmed to her lashes.
"Why?" Vivian asked, her eyes flitting back to Magnus.
"Why would I help you or why do I like hanging about in alleyways? Because if you're asking the latter, that was just sarcasm."
"Why would you help me?" She winced as she tried adjusting her positioning. "Why didn't you tell the Clave?"
"That's down to your leader."
"Our leader isn't –" Vivian suddenly stopped herself and glowered.
Magnus rose to his feet. "Isn't here," he finished. "I'm aware. Nor is she the most compassionate of your kind. But if you wish to tell her upon her return, then say now so I can get back to what I was doing." Magnus straightened his coat before adding, "Which was arguably more important than this."
Although Vivian's face contorted with pain every time she moved, she found the strength to turn it to Christina's. An invisible rope pulled taut between them and, as they shared silent words, Magnus questioned again the status of their friendship. This subtle glance between them reminded him of others he'd encountered in the past. The exchange had always made sense before; it had always felt right between the two people involved. Yet this time there was something different about the circumstances. For whatever reason, it didn't make sense – or rather, it shouldn't make sense. And yet, despite Magnus's immediate response telling him the situation was wrong, he was intrigued with the possibility of how it could be right. A friendship between a vampire and a werewolf was rare, but to have a connection like theirs, a bond stronger than two best friends and yet completely platonic, was impossible. At least, it was amongst Downworlders.
Only a few seconds later, Christina nodded, her jaw held bravely. Vivian mimicked the action as best as she could in her feeble state and then turned back to Magnus, using Christina's body for support.
She licked her dry lips before she spoke. "You could get in trouble if anyone finds out about this. The Clave would expect you to tell them."
"Perhaps I would have done if the werewolf that bit you had been a rogue. But since neither of you want to tell your leaders, I'm guessing that the lycanthrope belongs to your pack." Magnus looked pointedly at Christina. "And despite their wrong doing, you fear for their safety, too."
"It was stupid. He asked me out and I said no because I had other plans." Christina bit her lip and cast a worried look at Vivian. "So he followed me and... He just lost control. He didn't mean it."
Vivian opened her mouth as if to retort but was interrupted by a series of unrelenting coughs. Clotted, red liquid spluttered from her throat and down her chin, giving off an acrid smell. Her eyes lost focus as she released her grip on Christina and her muscles began to spasm uncontrollably.
"Viv! Vivian!" Christina cried, trying to restrain her frenzied limbs.
"Out of the way," Magnus commanded. He didn't need to shout the order; the firmness of his tone warned Christina enough not to argue. After she had shuffled back, Magnus kneeled down in front of Vivian and brought his hands toward her.
"Hey! What are you doing?" Christina demanded in alarm.
Magnus flashed a dangerous glance at her. "In case you've forgotten, you asked me to save your friend's life –" He resisted the urge to swear in every language he knew as he felt two needles pierce his forearm. Looking back at his patient, he found her mouth clamped around him, secured by her long canines.
A surge of magic passed down Magnus's arm and Vivian responded to it as if it were an electric current: her jaw snapped open and she flew forcibly back, her body slamming against the metal shutter behind her.
"Vivian!" screamed Christina, scrambling from the ground to her feet. Before she could run, Magnus cast blue bolts at her legs, temporarily paralyzing them. A rabid growl escaped Christina's lips and she breathed heavily through her nostrils, her irises blazing amber.
"She's fine. It was just a little zap," Magnus stressed, holding his hands up to aid his extenuation. "Just don't even think about Changing, otherwise things will get very ugly, very fast."
Without waiting for a response, Magnus advanced over to the crumpled form which looked alarmingly dead, even for a vampire. He ripped the sleeve from Vivian's blouse and gently brushed his fingers over the wounded area, assessing the extent of the damage. A deep gash ran across her upper arm, oozing viscous blood and pus. The bite had ripped into her muscle and Magnus noticed how the tissue tried to knit itself back together, only to quickly burn away again and worsen the wound. The disease was spreading; the flesh around the wound bubbled and the skin of her arm, her chest, and her neck, he realized, was inflamed and peeling.
Magnus closed his eyes. Inhaling deeply, he opened his hands over the source of the infection and felt a warm sensation flow from his palms. As he began to mutter a healing spell under his breath, flames crackled from his fingertips. They challenged the heat of the wound and when Magnus spoke louder, the blaze grew bigger, coalescing under his touch. Behind him he could hear Christina's screams. The momentary distraction caused his fire to dwindle and for a brief moment he thought the precarious strings holding onto Vivian's life had slipped from his mental grip. Drowning out the noise, he focused on the incantation, the movement of his mouth and the inferno growing beneath his hands. He chanted the Latin words in a sonorous voice, power rippling through his veins and exuding from his body. He bellowed the last line of the spell and then, almost instantly, the flames diminished. Upon opening his eyes, he was pleased (but not overly surprised) to see the wound had sealed and the skin had returned to its former pallor.
Drained yet smug with his handiwork, Magnus rose slowly to his feet. He snapped his fingers, releasing Christina from her restraints and the girl ran over.
Stumbling to the ground at Vivian's side, Christina grabbed the vampire's pale hand and held it to her face. "Viv?" she whispered fearfully.
Vivian's eyelids snapped open. The sclera of her eyes were no longer bloodshot; her pupils were wide and alert. They flitted between Christina and Magnus, seemingly oblivious to the fangs bursting from her gums and slicing her lower lip.
From the inside of his jacket, Magnus pulled out a blood bag, courtesy of Raphael's negligence. He passed it to Vivian, who snatched the pouch from him and sank her teeth into the plastic.
Once she had drunk the bag dry, she tossed it onto the ground and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"Thanks," she muttered awkwardly, folding her arms. "You didn't have to do that."
"As much as I would like to take all the credit, I was just doing what I was paid to do," Magnus said, stifling a yawn.
Vivian's head snapped around to her friend's. "Chrissy?"
Christina shrugged. "I gave him my mother's ring."
"Just when I thought I'd repaid my debt to you," she murmured, pulling Christina in for a tight embrace.
Despite their natural instincts to repel each other, the pair fitted together with ease, like the positive poles of a magnet lying perfectly adjacent. There was nothing romantic about their companionship but Magnus couldn't deny the harmonious balance between them.
For not the first time in his life, he questioned whether the blood of a Downworlder was only part demon. The Nephilim repudiated the existence of part-fae Shadowhunters, even if one stood before them bearing runes on their skin which would be fatal to the Fair Folk. They weren't impossible, as much as "pure-blood" Shadowhunters wanted them to be. Was it such a profanity to consider the idea that Shadowhunters and Downworlders had the blood of both angels and demons - that they were merely defined by the one which predominated their veins? It was well-known that Shadowhunter blood ringed true, but hadn't the Nephilim been proven wrong before? It was once believed that a Shadowhunter could not bear the child of a demon, until a unique warlock proved this to be false. What Magnus had learnt from seeing impossible things is that they weren't impossible at all, but rather people chose not to see them. People didn't believe in things that weren't supposed to be true.
"That must have been some debt," Magnus remarked, dusting off his hands and causing glitter to cascade to the ground.
Christina pulled away from the embrace, her expression hidden in the tenebrous alleyway. "We were attacked one time before."
"It was after me," Vivian corrected. "You just couldn't help getting involved."
"Viv reckons it was a rogue," Christina's explained and, as she lifted her hands to gesture plainly to herself, moonlight filtered from the strip of sky above them and cast across her face. "I was the unlucky one then."
Vivian's expression was hard. "She saved my life."
"And I gather," Magnus concluded, rocking back slowly on his heels, "that the Nephilim were no longer accommodating?"
His words struck a chord with Vivian, whose lips, still stained a merlot red, pulled back over her teeth. "Self-righteous bastards," she snarled, climbing to her feet with Christina's support. "They sing the Angel Raziel's praises like he's some kind of God. But he stops giving a fuck about you when you're no longer one of them. What kind of God is that?"
Christina took her friend's hand and squeezed it. "My father told me to leave, but not before he took the ring from my mother's hand and forced it onto mine, knowing it would hurt me. The pain was supposed to be a reminder of his love which I no longer deserved and that there was only one way to stop it burning and regain his love." Following a shaky breath, she continued, "He gave the ring to me so that I might give my life for his happiness. And I wore that darn thing every day until I got used to the pain. Do ut des." She glanced fondly at Vivian before turning back to Magnus. "I gave you the ring so that you would give me something in return: my best friend."
Magnus gave a slight bow and winked. "If it's any consolation, the last time I spoke to my father was nearly eighty years ago and he hasn't cared one bit. Neither have I for that matter."
Vivian crossed her arms scathingly. "How old are you? I've met a warlock before and he looked old. Like, really old."
"I use anti-wrinkle cream. What do you use?"
"We're both really grateful," Christina interjected hurriedly, kicking Vivian in the ankle.
Magnus waved an apathetic hand as he began to walk away, lacking the energy to come up with a sardonic response. As he walked, Christina called his name one last time.
"When are the werewolves next getting an invite to one of your parties?" She asked with a playful grin.
"I'll throw one tomorrow, so long as you don't bring any trouble makers with you," he called over his shoulder as he strode away, his boots echoing off the ground he covered. As he made his way home, he decided against informing Raphael on the incident involving a member from his Clan. "Justice" among Downworlders, namely vampires and werewolves, tended to involve finding and then killing the culprit, rather than prioritizing the victim of their kind. For, more often than not, their death could be used as an excuse to seek revenge on the perpetrators - an excuse which many mistook as their right to act upon. Except, it wasn't a right at all. Magnus knew retaliation to be just as worse as the first act committed. Needless to say, the Clave cared little for the loss of a few Downworlders - even if those Downworlders had once been Shadowhunter - and Magnus had long since realized the inexorable truth that their primary concern was for their own: the children of Raziel.
When Magnus arrived at the steps leading to his apartment, conscious of the time he had left, he hadn't anticipated on finding a mundane standing outside his door. He stopped abruptly. Although it wasn't every day a prepossessing, young man appeared on his doorstep, now was the worst time for it to happen.
Straining his magic to form a glamour, Magnus quietly observed the man who was pressing intently on the buzzer for the apartment, his face flushed with a mixture of vitality and fear. He reminded Magnus of Edmund Herondale, from the mundane's mass of fair hair to his light blue eyes. Although, his physique was slightly less impressive and he lacked the Shadowhunter's buoyancy, instead giving the impression that he held the world on his hunched shoulders.
Following several more pointless attempts, the man trod dejectedly down the steps, a despairing hand pushed through his hair. But then he stopped and it took Magnus a moment to realize that, despite his glamour, this mundane was looking straight at him
Knowing he'd been caught in the act of attempting to hide, Magnus cleared his throat awkwardly. "Are you… looking for someone?"
The man stared at him with startled eyes that were made all the more endearing by an unmistakable English accent. "Yes, but I… I think I may have found them."
At first, Magnus had been amused by the mundane's response, yet what he'd mistaken for awe turned out to be the complete opposite when he remembered the begrimed and bloodied state of his coat. "Why are you here?" he asked, in an attempt to divert the mundane's attention.
"Are you Mr. Bane?"
"To what does it concern you?"
The man swallowed nervously and held out a hand. "Jeremy," he introduced, keeping a steady voice. "And I need your help."