A/N: It's been over two weeks, huh? So sorry for the delay. I started a new job and it's much more demanding than my previous one, so I have less time to write. Expect similar delays going forward. I won't abandon this story but sometimes it may take me longer to put up new chapters.
Here's an extra-long chapter for you. Still not beta'd so…
Chapter 4
Magnus waved a hand rimmed in blue fire along the orange baseboard of a freshly painted turquoise wall. A god awful color combination, especially considering the floral print of the furniture in the living room, in Magnus' opinion, but he wasn't being hired as an interior designer so he decided to keep his critical thoughts to himself.
"Are you sure this will work, Mr- ah, is it 'Mr.' Bane?" It was a man with a Scottish accent, hesitating a little over the title. He cleared his throat to settle himself.
Magnus glanced back. Behind him, watching Magnus' ward building, stood an older man with a stocky boxer's build, arms crossed over his wide chest. He his only an inch or so taller than Magnus. He was completely bald but Magnus could tell from his healthy mustache and thick eyebrows that he had likely been a brunette. His cream skin glowed a light pink in the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. There were deep lines around his eyes and mouth, and he had fading blue eyes hidden behind wire rim glasses.
He was a handsome man, not exactly Magnus' type but attractive in his own way, and if either of them were available and the mood was right…certainly. But they were both in deeply committed relationships and the mood was most definitely not right given why Magnus was there. The man's handsome face was currently pressed into a distressed frown, laugh lines pulling down into worry lines instead. Magnus was there to set wards to fend off a stalker for the man's daughter.
"Call me 'Magnus,' please. Or if you wish to remain formal, you can use High Warlock Bane," he replied with a small smile, turning back to his work. "And I designed this warding myself. Given the specifications you gave me, it'll work better than what you have now. Certainly it'll work better than what a…different warlock could offer."
Magnus had been tracing the walls of the large, high rise condo in this manner for the last forty-five minutes and was making his way back around to the starting end of his magical warding line. As he finished his loop, the blue line of magic he had flowing from his hand attached to the beginning end. Magnus stepped back, snapped his fingers on both hands and elegantly raised both arms into the air. As his hands rose, the line of magic spread up along the walls to encase the entire condo in a shimmering blue light. He twirled his arms again and directed the warding to spread even more along the ceiling and floor beneath them.
The man, a mundane named Hamish MacIntyre, hopped a little as if the warding magic had become lava. Magnus kept his smile from getting larger, deeming that impolite, and glided across to the front door. He snapped his fingers and concentrated on the runic design he had modified for his clients.
He reached his hand back. "Do you have the item I requested?"
MacIntyre moved to the couch, picked up a plastic bag, and crossed to hand it to Magnus with, "Is this alright?"
Inside was a dirty, white t-shirt with sweat stains that had turned the shirt brown at the pits.
"This will be fine, thank you," Magnus answered. He curled a lip and took the disgusting shirt into his left hand while his right stayed raised to the closed door.
Magnus closed his kohl lined eyes and concentrated on the spiritual essence left coating the shirt. He glimpsed an image of wiry, white man with heavy bags under his eyes and a pinched face. The man's essence rang through him, reminding him faintly of a wolf caught in a cold rain. Magnus locked on to the image, snapping his eyes open, and pulled the werewolf's signature from the shirt through the link he had built to the ward and weaved the signature around the warlock rune he had re-designed. He dropped the dirty shirt to the floor, glad to no longer have to touch it.
He embedded the spiritual signature in the rune, then snapped his right hand that had been holding the rune aloft. The rune vibrated then slowly sank itself into the blue warding over the door. When the rune had fully immersed itself, the entire ward covering the condo flashed yellow as it melded with the standard ward already on the home, then the whole intricate web of protection faded into invisibility. Magnus, however, could feel the wards humming in the back of his mind as it settled into protecting the home.
He turned to his client and found the man back in his previous stance, arms crossed around him, face attempting neutrality but failing. His pearl colored shirt bulged around his biceps and his fingers dug into the cotton. He wore tan, designer slacks and dark brown loafers, and his matching suit jacket lay across the back of the ugly couch. Yves Saint Laurent, Magnus absently noted. He could see from MacIntyre's tailored suit that he was wealthy, if a bit conservative fashion wise for Magnus' tastes. Still, the suit was tasteful and sat well on his frame so Magnus could not say he didn't approve of the look. Somehow whatever fashion sense the man possessed had not passed down to his daughter, if her décor was any indication.
Magnus shook those thoughts from his mind and straightened his own black velvet blazer, silver rings flashing on hands that smoothed the lines. He felt his gunmetal gray vest tighten over his cerulean blue silk shirt as he moved closer to his client.
MacIntyre's eyes glanced briefly at Magnus and darted away nervously. Magnus frowned and watched the man more closely. He looked as if he wanted to tell the warlock something important but was unsure how. Magnus decided to delay while he worked up the courage and continue as if he hadn't noticed.
"Let the new ward settle into place with the standard wards for the rest of the day," Magnus told the anxious man. "It should only take a few hours but your daughter can wait until morning to move back in, if you both want to be sure."
The man nodded rapidly.
"'Hamish,'" he said while licking his lips. "You can call me 'Hamish,' as well."
Magnus waited.
Hamish MacIntyre was a mundane currently living in Edinburgh. He ran a fund management and investment services company that catered to the wealthy elite of the UK. He had been referred to Magnus by the High Warlock of Edinburgh, Niall, when the man had inquired about the best ward crafter in North America. Magnus, of course.
Magnus had learned from Niall that Hamish was acquainted with the Down World because of his wife, Coira, who was a seonaidh water sprite, a minor Lady as well, who had chosen to leave the Court and live with her husband in the mundane world. A rare choice for a faerie noble, especially in these times of uncertainty with the Circle moving among them. Even rarer with the Seelie Queen withdrawing her people from the outside world more and more. Though he had yet to meet the woman, Magnus thought Coira to be remarkable and brave to have renounced her Court life for her family.
The couple's youngest child, Lorna, had chosen to go to university in America and had moved a little over a year ago to attend Fordham. During Magnus' standard client phone screening, Hamish had explained that his daughter had started dating a werewolf, Darren, from her school but when she tried to break it off a month or so later, he had taken it poorly. She had gotten increasingly uncomfortable calls, texts, and social media messages, escalating to the young man actually following her around.
As a precaution, Lorna had gotten some standard wards set up but one day, two months ago, she had gotten home to find her wards down, her condo broken into, hateful words scrawled across her walls, and some of her clothing gone missing. Left behind was the light scent of wolf and petrichor.
It had scared her to death and she had immediately decided to return home to Scotland for the summer, cancelling the summer courses she had originally wanted to take. It was there that the High Warlock of Edinburgh had been notified of the problem by the lovely Coira, and he who had contacted Magnus to connect the family to his services, knowing that Magnus was an exceptional warder.
It took him about a week to research and prepare the modified spell according to desired specifications. Hamish had decided to meet Magnus at Lorna's condo for the spell work while the young woman and her mother stayed at a nearby hotel until the work was finished. School started in less than two weeks and the girl wanted to return to her home as soon as possible.
Magnus had advised against it for several reasons but ultimately he was being paid for a service so he provided what he could since the girl was determined to go her own way. She reminded him of Clary. It seemed Magnus had been recently cursed to always interact with obstinate young people who never listened to him. Magnus caught himself before he rolled his eyes in from of a client.
Hamish fidgeted with another bag that lay lengthwise on the couch. It was an overly long black duffle bag. He turned the strap's buckle over and over in his hands as the silence stretched. Something about the man made Magnus feel this was fairly atypical behavior but Magnus well knew that when family was involved everything changed.
Magnus felt no urge to quicken the man's pace. Over the centuries Magnus had encountered many people who struggled to talk to him. He had developed patience to spare in those instances. Magnus spun a few of the rings on his fingers and calmly watched.
Hamish came to some decision and abruptly unzipped the bag. Slowly he eased out a long case made of lacquered mahogany and turned to lay it on the glass coffee table. Magnus moved forward to get a better look.
"Your payment," Hamish said, and he undid the latches on the side of the case and slowly opened the lid. "I hear that most warlocks prefer payment by artifacts with a story attached."
Magnus flicked his fingers. "Oh, we take many forms of payment," he said absently. His eyes latched onto the open case. "Though I will confess, I love a fabled antiquity."
Inside lay a sword resting on purple velvet, a decorative scabbard nestled beside it. Magnus fluttered a hand near the edge of the case, not touching but longing to do so. He immediately recognized the sword as a 17th Century Scottish broadsword, basket-hilted with an ornate design and a lovely Ferrara blade.
Hamish pulled soft, white gloves from the bag and put them on. He very gently lifted the broadsword from the velvet and tilted it to catch the afternoon light filtering in from the living room window.
"I don't think this counts as 'fabled' but it does have a tale. This was given to my direct ancestor in 1686 by Clan Chief Duncan himself. His name was Willum MacIntyre, a third son of a third son, as always." Hamish smiled a little at Magnus and Magnus returned the look accordingly. "It was said he was a young farmer's lad, barely out of the cradle himself, who became of great service to the chieftain when he rescued one of Duncan's nieces from being stolen away by the faeries…or perhaps just lads from a neighboring clan."
Hamish tilted the sword again but towards Magnus this time and taking his cue, the warlock banished his rings, summoned similar white gloves of his own to wear, and carefully took the sword from the man.
Magnus examined it carefully. It was well balanced, a little heavier than the type of swords Magnus used to prefer but a good weight for a claybeg.
"When the chieftain asked Willum what he would like as reward for his service to his family, Willum told the chief he wanted a blade of honor to protect his family, having naught but his hoe before. But the niece was said to have been a favored one so instead of giving the boy a sword from his armory, the chieftain had one commissioned. The stories say the iron folded into the blade was forged from the iron hoe Willum used to fend off the 'fiendish creature' trying to take away the fair maiden he rescued." Hamish ran a gloved finger lightly along the flat of said blade. "I don't know if I believe that but it's a good story."
The blade was well cared for, Magnus could see. It was polished and the blade looked sharpened as if new. Clearly it was a cherished heirloom.
Hamish gestured to the hilt. "The basket-hilt was made to resemble a conch shell to honor the island from where Clan MacIntyre was said to have originated before they migrated to Glen Noe."
Magnus raised the end of the sword to examine the hilt more closely. The basket was indeed fashioned into thin crossings of metal, striated with precision to evoke a large shell. The basket design twisted up in a curve to a large pommel that looked faintly like a pearl.
"When I was young, I thought the stories fairytales and put more weight in it being a neighbor trying to steal himself a wife, as it was in those days." Magnus grimaced, remembering when that was a thing. Hamish caught the look and gave a sympathetic nod.
He suddenly smiled and said, "Then I met Coira and she loved me well and told me of who she was and the world you all are from…Now all of the stories my mother told me when I was a boy seem likely to be real."
Magnus lifted a charmed brow. "It well may have been both. Perhaps your ancestor's neighbors were both neighbor and faerie, there to steal a bride either way," he said lightly and flipped the sword to examine the other side.
On the blade, close to the sword's guard and in small curling letters surrounded by engraved flowers, were the Latin words 'per ardua.'
"'Through hardship,'" said Hamish while Magnus examined the writing. He said it in a soft voice, seeming is if he were thinking of a particular moment of adversity for himself. Magnus decided not to comment on the fact that he understood the Latin perfectly fine and needed no translation.
"Our clan motto," he elaborated. Hamish reached down to pull up the scabbard and Magnus set the precious sword back into the case.
"This scabbard was made much later," the man said. "The family lost track of the sword after the English tore through the clans after Culloden. My great-grandfather labored to recover the sword and found it in his later years but by then the scabbard had been destroyed, so he had one made along with restoring the shark skin of the grip."
The scabbard was covered with stiffened and polished leather. Decorating the leather were sprigs of a white plant sprouting as if growing from the iron locket where the sword's guard would rest. It was far more decorative than Magnus imagined a young, 17th Century farm boy would likely pick. Definitely made later.
"White heather. The MacIntyre badge," Hamish said, gesturing to the plant design.
Magnus hummed in appreciation and set the scabbard back into the case next to the sword.
"Hamish, this is a beautiful antiquity," Magnus said and ran a finger over the wonderful seashell basket-hilt again. "One deeply steeped in your family's lore, clearly."
Magnus stepped back from the coffee table, removed both gloves with a sharp pull, and restored his jewelry with a snap of fingers. He banished the gloves after, not intending to touch the sword again.
"Even if I ignore the sentimental value this must have for your family, it is still worth far more than our agreed upon price. Three times as much, at least, if I wear to calculate without a formal appraisal." Magnus paused shrewdly and sucked in a slow breath. "What is the meaning of this?"
Hamish squared his shoulders and met Magnus' gaze head on.
"I want you to kill Darren Lloyd."
Magnus ordered his face into a neutral mask, taking his time with how to respond.
It wasn't the first time a client had requested such. Magnus had little reason to think it would be the last. Many people made assumptions. Some rumors were just about warlocks in general, to be sure. Many people believed warlocks to be the most demonic of all the Shadow World races, and thus the more capable of evil.
'Vampires and werewolves were made from a disease, mostly human with a bit of an infection. And the fair folk? Well, the fae were half-angelic. Whatever demonic traits they have is balanced by that. Tricky ones, to be sure, but how bad can you be if your biggest weakness is that you can't lie? But those warlocks…direct lines to demon scum, and how unnatural to have all that power.'
Sometimes it was about Magnus, specifically. They saw his power, listened to rumors about his greed, or thought they understood his aloofness.
'Magnus Bane has an appetite, you know. Give him rubies or diamonds and he'll do anything…then he'll do you,' they said of him. Or if they had even an iota of information about his childhood, 'That Magnus Bane is cold as ice. Fickle with his heart and fickle with his hands. Just a snap of his fingers and you're through. Started young, they say. A killer right from the cradle.'
It didn't matter how many good deeds he did or how many lives he saved, there was always at least one rumor that said differently. Magnus had found, in his many centuries of life, that one lie weighed more heavily to people than a thousand truths, so he had stopped trying to prove himself long before. They would learn or they would not, and as long as they did not interfere with Magnus or his people, they could believe what they wanted.
So Magnus understood exactly how it was he came to be standing in a costly, high rise condo being asked to turn assassin by a man he'd only just met face-to-face.
Magnus took another look at him. Hamish stood stiffly, feet wide and arms straight down his sides, with a defiant look on his face. Seemingly he felt no shame for what he had just asked. Then Magnus looked down to his hands; they were balled into fists, knuckles gone white with strain, and they shook slightly with jittery nerves.
Magnus broke his silence with a sigh. "Please elaborate on the thought process that led to you thinking that this"—his hands waved over the entire room in a bewildered arc—"request was at all appropriate."
Hamish let out an explosive huff and dropped onto the tacky couch next to the empty duffle bag. His hands came down to grip the cushions beneath him. Magnus settled into the equally as ugly armchair to the right of the couch and elegantly crossed his legs, leaning back and examining his painted nails as if he were being told a boring story, not solicited to commit murder.
"I can't do anything to help her. I'm not—" He broke off, looking away from Magnus and toward the hallway to the bedrooms. "That son of a bitch broke in here and terrorized my little girl and I can't do anything to protect her."
"So your answer is to ask me, a man you only just met, to murder him?"
It wasn't quite a moral dilemma for Magnus per se. Magnus was no stranger to killing, pre-meditated or otherwise; he had lived far too long to hold to that kind of ethical "high ground," so to speak. But he made a point of only killing as a last resort, and certainly not for money. It was a line he had yet to cross, nor did he have a desire to cross it in the future. Besides, it wouldn't do to give the Clave actual evidence with which to arrest and kill him. Boldly taking a kill contract from a mundane client would certainly come back to bite him directly in his ass, and not in the fun way.
Hamish turned to look at him directly. "Are you a father, Magnus? Have you ever been," he inquired. His voice was softer than Magnus had expected.
Magnus thought then of Raphael…and of Simon and Elias and Zoe, and the hundreds of downworlders he had cared for over the centuries. Each one unique and coming to him in pain or alone, needing his help. Lastly he saw little Madzie's face, tear streaked from that morning when he had scolded her.
Magnus' right hand fell to rub against his raised thigh as he spoke. "As a warlock, by my very nature, I am unable to have biological children but over the years I have had many children in other ways…yes."
"Then you know fear," Hamish said, a heaviness pulling his facial expression down. "I have never felt as helpless as I have than when I started having children."
"I do know," Magnus replied, body as heavy as Hamish's face.
Magnus thought of when he had put together what had happened with Raphael and Isabelle's addiction problem. The strange guilt that Raphael had fallen from the blood wagon because of his inattention. The terror at wondering if he would get taken by the Clave for drinking shadowhunter blood. The ache that there was nothing Magnus could do to really help. It was an irrational thing. Raphael had long become an adult and leader of his own clan. His choices were ultimately his own. But, oh, did it hurt.
Even when he was a boy of fifteen, living with Magnus and in such spiritual pain from his new transition, Raphael had seemed far more independent than other children Magnus had cared for. Raphael had always been his most difficult child because Magnus had never quite figured out if he was doing any good with him. Decades later and those feelings of powerlessness remained.
Hamish's voice shook a little more as he spoke. "I'm not like you or Coira. Not part of this world. If I could handle this on my own, I would. But he's a werewolf. This isn't some punk kid I can intimidate with a stern voice and cracking knuckles, yeah? I- There's nothing I can do."
Magnus could see the fear and frustration bubbling under the surface of the mundane's face. Sweat had broken out on his shining, bald head. Calling a hit on a man was definitely nothing Hamish was used to, Magnus could tell, but he seemed at his whit's end. He decided to try to steer this entire encounter in a less homicidal direction.
Magnus sighed. "Have you thought about going to his Alpha? I am personally acquainted with the New York Pack so I can send you to him."
Hamish shook his head. "Lorna tried that eight or so months ago when Darren's harassment started getting worse. The Alpha was missing or something and the second, Al or Allen-"
"'Alaric,'" Magus supplied, hiding the flash of sorrow over the now deceased man.
"Right, yeah. Anyway, Lorna said Alaric told her there was little the New York Pack could do as Darren was something called a 'Lone Wolf.' Obviously it means something other than what humans think of." The man shook his head in confusion. "Lorna said the most they could do would be give him a warning not to cause trouble that brought mundane attention." Hamish grew angry then. "I don't even understand that! He's a werewolf and he lives here. It's their responsibility, isn't it?"
Magnus shifted slightly in surprise. This Darren boy was a registered Lone Wolf? That changed a few things.
Magnus shook his head. He wasn't thrilled with being a Down World encyclopedia but he thought he should explain since Coira either hadn't bothered or was the type of faerie that stayed divorced from other Down World races and thus didn't know. Possibly Hamish had neglected to inform her of his assassin idea altogether, as well.
So Magnus elaborated, "A Lone Wolf designation means he has opted not to join a Pack. Almost as if he were a Pack of one. He gets to remain free from Pack obligations—tithes, community service, battle or war drafting, etc.—and the local Packs have no authority over him so long as he does not interfere with their interests or members. However, he also does not get to benefit from the protections a Pack can provide. Packs can offer better shelter from the Clave, the Accords, and other Down World races. Pack Alphas will intercede on their behalf for disputes and provide asylum and protection. Pack networks are also extremely helpful against mundane authorities. Even things like monetary, emotional, and social help are provided within a Pack."
Magnus shrugged and tilted his head. "It's a choice that few werewolves make. Usually Pack-less wolves stay in rural areas. But Alaric was right. As a Lone Wolf, the New York Pack has no authority to interfere as long as Darren does not threaten the Accords or Pack safety."
"The Accords," Hamish scoffed. "What a joke. They don't help either! Coira told me that since Lorna is half Seelie she would not be protected as a mundane would be by those shadowhunters. They consider it 'Downworlder Affairs' and not any of their business."
Magnus could sympathize. On one hand, despite his current associations, he didn't want increased interference from shadowhunters among downworlders. On the other hand, if the Shadow races had joined thusly in the Accords, shadowhunters should provide to downworlders the same kind of inter-community protective help they gave to mundanes. The reality was all too different. Shadowhunters interfered when they felt like it and were scarce with just as much whimsy. They would be no help here, and he wouldn't put Alec in a position to choose between increased pressure from the Clave and Magnus' client's boon. Not when he had a few alternative ideas, anyway.
"No, the shadowhunters would not help with this, even without considering the war that's on in the Shadow World. And I assume help from the Seelie Court is closed off to you as well, considering Coira's defection," Magnus paused as he contemplated the situation. "Hamish, first, has your daughter reconsidered moving like I suggested when we started this? I imagine the cost of suddenly moving and breaking a condo contract here would be negligible with your level of wealth. It won't do anything about him knowing where she goes to school but-"
"No," Hamish interrupted, resting his head in his hands, elbows perched on his knees as he leaned forward. "I offered to find a new place after the phone screening with you but she told me 'no' again. After her initial fear, she got angry and now she won't listen to me. 'I won't be run out of my own place by some loser I dated for barely a month,'" he said, voice slightly muffled from his palms, his fingers tucked between his glasses and his eyelids as he rubbed his face.
He looked up at Magnus after a moment. "She's very stubborn. Just like her mother."
Magnus gave a polite smile.
Hamish continued, "It's why I really did want your special wards if- if the other thing didn't pan out." The other thing being assassination. Magnus could admit to still being a bit hung up on that.
"Hamish, the wards as requested are solid. You have my solemn vow on that. They are designed to keep out Darren and keyed to his spiritual signature, as added specificity. However, considering the particulars of the situation, I want to reiterate that there are some problems with this type of warding. I was going to explain this in greater detail to you and your daughter later but I'll go ahead now just with you…there is an inherent weakness in these wards because they are being used on a unit in a larger structure as opposed to a free standing building."
Magnus let his voice drone a little clinically as he explained, "Free standing buildings are more easily warded and the ward line can be set away from the building to prevent physical attacks that could damage the ward anchors in physical space. However, I cannot properly ward a free standing building like this without the permission of the primary owner(s), likely the real estate company or the condo community collective. As far as I know, your daughter is the only downworlder living in this complex which makes getting that permission difficult."
"Why do you need permission," Hamish asked. A good question some never thought to ask.
"It's very similar to the natural magic that keeps out vampires unless they are invited into a home by a living resident," Magnus clarified. "Unsolicited warding magic done on residential property tied to a living being is completely unreliable and subject to fail within days at the most. It's a left over from the Wild Magic that ruled the Earth long ago and lies mostly dormant now. The Wild Magic senses the lack of spiritual permission from the living person(s) in residence and eventually rises up to 'eat' the unwanted ward, for lack of a better analogy. It has nothing to do with personal power or lack thereof—no one can claim to conquer Wild Magic, not even the Seelie and Unseelie Courts—so if a warlock tells you they can do it because of any reason, I will tell you they are lying and are tricking you out of money. Whatever ward they cast is either fake or will fall, leaving your daughter completely unprotected."
Hamish nodded in understanding so Magnus continued with his explanation of the faults in the type of ward the MacIntyre family had ordered.
"With a unit like this Darren cannot enter himself however he can certainly significantly damage the neighboring walls, the ceiling, or the floor to weaken the warding. For example, is he the type to build a pipe bomb and place it in a neighbor's home?"
Hamish's eyes grew wild. "I hadn't thought of that! Would a werewolf even know to do that?"
Magnus nodded sagely. "There you go. Many downworlders do not think to remember mundane inventions as solutions for magical problems but werewolves are more likely to live and hide among humans, a Lone Wolf even more so, and they are more likely to know of these things."
"Dear Father in heaven…"
"Not to alarm you more but, in addition, the ward is not built to counter agents that Darren could send. As I understand it, obsessive stalkers are likely to recruit others into helping them, whether by trickery and lies or by the fact that these others are terrible people willing to help in terrorizing someone. He could have a friend or family member approach Lorna and the wards would not ping at all."
"This is a nightmare."
"Undeniably," Magnus agreed. "Hamish, I want to urge you to speak again to your daughter about moving. I am also available to answer any questions she might have about the wards or other options."
Magnus unfolded his legs and leaned forward. He called his magic into his hand, nonverbally formed a spell, and his blue fire coalesced into a stylish business card. He paused a moment and then he shook the card in his hand with a snap and let his magic double it.
His business cards were matte black with a blue and green flame shaped logo in one corner and writing in raised gold. On one side was his name and direct contact information. On the other side were the enlarged words "MAGNUS EFFECT INDUSTRIES," the current corporation name he used to manage most of his business ventures that overlapped with the mundane world: Pandemonium, his real estate properties under Topspin Estates, and all of his charity interests. His magical consulting was largely done more privately and entirely in the Shadow World, although he sometimes funneled artifact payments through an antiquities dealer with whom he was acquainted if he wanted to maintain their provenance for legitimacy. He would have done so for Hamish's sword, if he had taken the man's payment.
He offered his business cards to Hamish. "Take my card. I've added a second for your daughter."
The mundane took them in hand and examined one. "'Magnus Effect Industries,'" he read. "M.E.I…have I heard of this company?"
"Possibly," Magnus answered. Hamish was a fund manager after all. "Most of my interests under that particular business name are in North America but I have a small partnership with a London based private museum and library chain previously owned by a dear friend. He recently passed and I'm sure there were bulletins printed in a few business magazines when his assets were re-distributed. The M.E.I business name was likely in one of those."
Magnus paused as he remembered his dear Ragnor, taken from him far sooner than he had ever thought.
"He had the distinction of being an admitted recluse who was also fond of making a splash when he felt it. He requested an old school will reading after the probate period on his mundane assets which ended a couple of months ago. It was quite the public affair as per his wishes. He was another warlock who ran it under the pseudonym 'Denver Underhill.'"
Hamish's eyes widened. "Oh, of course! The Underhill Collection! It was all over the papers last month. So many ancient manuscripts thought lost were discovered and donated to public museums."
"There were several Sumerian treatises on grain propagation and drip irrigation that rocked the agricultural and anthropological worlds, I'm sure," Magnus drawled teasingly.
Hamish laughed, the first one he had done all afternoon. "M.E.I…yes, I've heard of you," he said, looking down at the card again.
"Certainly check my business credentials per your usual methods, if you wish. However, don't be alarmed at some of the things that look…off. There is different information to look for depending on if you know that I am a warlock, as I'm sure you can imagine. Downworlders who do business partially in the mundane world often read like shady companies."
Hamish slanted a smirk at that. "I bet," he said.
"Now," Magnus said, getting back on topic. "I spent time working in real estate in the 70s and the industry was so helpful for moving untraceable immortal wealth, that I carried it over when I reinvented my latest mundane persona in the late 90s and started M.E.I. Under a subsidiary called Topspin Estates, I offer secure and all-inclusive warded housing with several buildings for downworlders living in the mundane world but who still needing the protections afforded by magic. I have medium and low income housing as well but if Lorna prefers a high rise condo such as this"—he waved a hand around the room—"then I have several condominium units for rent, sale, and rent-to-buy in the building I currently reside in overlooking the Manhattan Bridge. They are a bit pricy but there's the added bonus of my personal wards and the protection of living near the High Warlock of Brooklyn included. I can very easily fold the ward I created for your daughter into the standard wards I have around my properties."
Magnus snapped his fingers again and two other cards appeared, black again with the blue and green logo and the M.E.I words written out. These, however, were seemingly devoid of words on the other side…at least to Hamish, in any case.
"Your hand, if you don't mind," he said to the mundane.
Hamish obliged and rested his warm and slightly moist hand in Magnus'. Magnus pressed the man's thumb to one blank card and magic rose to cover both the cards and their hands. Hamish jumped at the feel then the magic rolled across the matte black finish and, in its wake, gold letters rose from the surface, revealing themselves to the mundane:
.com
USERNAME: dw_client
PASSWORD: B4n3fULH ven20!6
Magnus let go of Hamish's hand and left the two cards with the man. "I've imprinted your signature with the cards' magic, so that you can read the words as a mundane. Your wife and daughter should have no problem seeing through the glamour."
He gestured to the writing, "Sign in on my website using this guest information and you will gain access to a hidden website that showcases what my businesses offer to Shadow World clients. Browse my Topspin Estates section to see the housing properties I own and their availabilities and amenities. Please use discretion when logging in and use a secure computer. My cyber security team is top notch but I still don't really want to test them."
Magnus leaned back again. "I do not send out information in emails or listservs or anything of that nature for my magical services. If you wish to keep up with M.E.I Shadow news, you have to log in and look for it yourself. The business card magically updates with a new password every few months, so keep it close. The words are only hidden from mundanes, keep in mind. I welcome all Shadow World denizens to browse my magical services and only a few, select non-magical people."
Magnus quirked an eyebrow and pursed his lips lightly before speaking again, "Now, I will admit most of my properties are in Brooklyn, Queens, and Lower Manhattan. If this is a real problem for Lorna location wise, I can use my real estate contacts to find similar Shadow World properties further north for her. None will boast my level of wards but they will be more secure than trying to shore up a home Darren already knows exists that also isn't fully warded around the entire building."
Hamish studied the business cards in his hands, eyes wide in gratitude, then he tucked the cards into his shirt's breast pocket. "I- thank you, Magnus. I will definitely take a look with Lorna and Coira."
Magnus nodded. "If she doesn't already, Lorna should also consider carrying silver on her person, the purer the better. Silver is naturally faerie tuned and will bend to her will but it is also extremely dangerous for werewolves."
Hamish jumped to reply. "She wears some silver jewelry now at all times."
"That's good. That will help. I will also look further into some spells Lorna can consider that she might be able to carry."
Magnus took a look at the heavy, designer watch on his wrist. 2:57 PM. He stood and extended a hand to Hamish, who stood as well. "I'm going to delay payment for the warding here until Lorna makes a decision about the move. In the-"
"No! Take the sword, please," Hamish nearly yelled. Magnus stopped at the exclamation and Hamish continued in the pause. "Take the sword, even if only for collateral until later. I'm a businessman. I don't want to take a service from you and not pay you anything at all."
Magnus could admit to being a bit shocked. It was not every day that someone honored Magnus' labor by insisting on paying even after he gave them a pass. Somehow, this human had afforded Magnus more respect than most people he had ever met.
Yet Magnus still hesitated some, saying, "It is still a family heirloom…perhaps something less personal…?"
Hamish chuckled again. "It was cherished in my family, to be sure, but I'll tell you, paying you is not the only reason it's here." His smile was a bit self-conscious and it made him look ten years younger. "It would be in poor taste for me to try to pass down an iron blade to faerie children, even worse an iron blade that has a story attached to it about killing fair folk."
Magnus' head dipped to the side in understanding but he stayed silent.
Hamish bent down to softly trace the velvet lining next to the sword, careful not to brush against the artifact. He gently closed the case and turned the latches before shifting the whole thing back into the large duffle bag and zipping it closed.
"No, I have plenty of other MacIntyre artifacts for my family legacy," he said lifting the bag to give to Magnus. "I think my ancestor wouldn't mind that I traded it to keep my daughter safe since the sword was made to keep his family safe as well."
Magnus took the bag reverently, appreciative of the sentiment. He didn't know if he would keep the sword as payment yet but as Hamish had respected him enough to want to pay, he could respect the man enough to not overly question his decisions about his own family's heirlooms. He'd take it as collateral and if Hamish still insisted, perhaps he would donate it to a museum on the Scottish Clans so that its history stayed public and tied to Hamish's family. Like Ragnor had often done.
"I understand, Hamish," he said without divulging his thoughts. "I'll keep it for now. In the meantime, Lorna can move back in if she likes. I've scanned the apartment for any traps as well before I laid the ward. It's as safe as I can make this place, considering what we discussed."
Hamish nodded.
"I want to schedule a consultant meeting later with both you and your daughter, and your wife as well if she wishes. We can meet either in my home office in the building I told you about, in my Pandemonium offices, or I can use portals so we can all visit here or go to your home in Edinburgh. When do you leave the States?"
"Not until this is all settled. I've been working online and telecommuting for now and Coira is on sabbatical from her university position for another five months. We are legally here until our Visa expires in two months. We flew the mundane way," he said awkwardly.
"Excellent. Regardless of Lorna's decision, I want to have a follow up consultation with her to answer any questions she might have about her new warding. Give me," he paused as he made mental calculations. "Give me six days to do more research on Lorna's situation and I'll have at least a few suggestions for her about what she can do to protect herself when not behind these wards."
"Alright."
"Give me a call or send me an email letting me know when you wish to meet so I can schedule you in. Call me direct. I'm currently between executive assistants. I'll answer or return a voicemail message you leave."
"Wonderful," Hamish said shaking Magnus' hand again. "I'll talk with you soon."
"And, honestly, don't try to order assassinations anymore," Magnus said with a bit of pity in his voice that he couldn't quite hide. "If I was anyone else, this could've gone very differently. And by 'different,' I mean 'terribly' for you."
Hamish nodded contritely and that was that.
Magnus and Hamish parted ways, Magnus portalling back home to drop off his latest acquisition. He couldn't magic it to his dimensional safe without opening the rune combination physically.
He went about it quickly as he was supposed to meet Catarina, back from her vacation, for a late lunch slash early dinner at three near her hospital. He sent her a text to let her know he was on his way and told her to order for him. He was already late.
When he popped into his loft, he strode over to his dial safe and entered a rune combination that opened an empty pocket dimension. He placed the sword, bag and all, inside the dimensional space and closed the runic pattern.
Magnus jumped from a portal into an alley behind a brownstone near Gramercy Park at 3:21 PM.
The narrow alleyway let out onto E 21st Street. He was less than a block away from the little Mediterranean restaurant where he had agreed to meet Catarina.
The restaurant was quite busy when he entered. Magnus had to dodge quite a few flung handbags, pushed out chairs, and weaving servers as he wound his way to where he could see Catarina waiting.
She was currently looking down at her cell phone sitting next to a tall glass of some kind of pinkish yellow juice. A plate of picked at calamari sat in the middle of the table, her own individual appetizer plate had crumbs on it.
"Catarina," he called out and she turned to look at him as he approached. He bent down to kiss her warm cheek, currently glamoured her usual dark obsidian when she was among the mundanes. Her razor sharp cheekbones caught the light from the overhead lamp, cool blue undertones gleaming. She pursed her lips as she watched him hang his blazer on the back of his chair before he settled into it.
"I'm so sorry for today, Cat. Time really got away from me. This whole day has been a mess."
"Nearly thirty minutes late, Magnus," she said as she turned off her phone screen and reached over to hand him a menu. "Very unusual for you. I thought your last client was a simple warding."
Magnus gave a breathy scoff. "Let me order a drink before I get into that." He took the menu she offered as he spoke and looked over it.
She smiled, "Oh, that kind of day, was it?"
"You don't know the half of it. So, what did you order for me?"
Catarina raised a hand to call over the waiter and then answered him, "I ordered the lamb kofta with a side of broccoli rabe for you. You've been expending quite a bit of magic today, yes?"
Magnus nodded. A good choice. She knew him well. Before he could say such to her, the waiter arrived. He was a young, slim Black man who looked to be in his mid-twenties with thin dreadlocks pulled back into a neat ponytail.
"Hello, sir, my name is Jerry and I'll be your waiter today," he said with a light voice. "The lamb kofta and salmon kebabs the lady ordered will be out shortly but is there anything I can get for you now? A drink, perhaps?"
"Thank you, Jerry," Magnus replied. "Give me a red Bordeaux and the spicy feta mezze."
"Anything else for you, ma'am?" The young man turned to Catarina.
"Oh, I'm fine. Just more of this strawberry mango juice, if you please."
As the waiter left, Magnus finally took time to look at Catarina. She was in a pair of clean black pants and a flowing white blouse patterned in red, black, and silver flowers. It was buttoned over a black undershirt. A gray pea coat was folded on an empty chair next to them, her black purse sitting on the seat.
Catarina's hair was pulled up and back into a loose bun, curls wrapping around each other. She had recently taken to leaving her hair its natural platinum white even when she glamoured her blue skin for mundane sensibilities. A few coils of hair had escaped from her bun to frame arched white eyebrows and long, soft lashes.
Magnus opened the conversation with, "So, since we're not going to talk about me until I have liquor in me, let's talk about you. What's new with Catarina Loss? How was the end of your vacation?"
Jerry arrived with a cart carrying Magnus' wine, his mezze, and Catarina's refill as she talked about her vacation. The young man showed him the bottle, to which Magnus nodded at the vintage. He poured a taste for Magnus and, when it was approved, then poured an entire glass. He served the mezze to Magnus and swapped Catarina's juice. The entire thing was done quickly and silently, the young man deciding not to interrupt their conversation verbally.
"…and Manu finally had enough with his whining so he threatened to encanto him and just be done with it."
"He didn't." Magnus took a nibble of calamari he had transferred from the platter to his own appetizer plate. Crispy. He reached for his feta mezze next.
"Well, he wouldn't actually encanto him without permission but the man didn't know that, did he? Either way, he finally settled down and let us work on him. I didn't even have to resort to showing him Iron Burn pictures like you suggested, though I was sorely tempted."
"I'm telling you, it would've worked," he protested. Then he shrugged and continued, "Ah well…at least that was over then. I trust the rest of your sex romp vacation was better."
Catarina hesitated and a complicated look stole over her face. Magnus paused as he drank his wine.
"Or maybe it wasn't?"
She sighed. "I had to break it off with Manu," she said and rubbed one of her temples.
"No."
"Yes."
"Completely break it off? Or just one of your breaks?"
Catarina frowned into her glass. "Completely this time, I think."
"What happened," Magnus said in shock.
Catarina and Manu had been seeing each other on and off for nearly eight years. The longest the woman had seen someone since her fiancé had died in the early 90s. She wasn't the dating type, too devoted to her work, so she had mostly abstained since then. Until Manu. He was a fellow healer, a Finnish vampire who had been a surgeon in the 80s and elected to continue the practice after he was turned. How he managed not to savage his patients on the operating table was a mystery to Magnus but he supposed that very discipline and dedication was what had drawn Catarina to him even the little bit that she was. They had entered into a casual and non-exclusive relationship ever since, breaking things off during periods when Manu wanted to date someone else seriously or Catarina got too busy and had no time for him.
"It wasn't working anymore."
Magnus leaned forward in interest. "Why? I thought he was perfect for you. Handsome, devoted to his own craft, currently living on a completely different continent…" He smirked a bit as he said the last, sipping on his wine.
"The day before we were set to leave Vienna, he told me he was thinking of moving to the US," she said a little distastefully. "To New York."
Magnus grimaced. "Well…"
"Indeed."
Magnus understood then. Catarina had always had trouble with romantic relationships. By 'trouble' he meant she didn't like them. In all the years he had known her, several centuries now, she had seriously dated only a handful of times and each one had ended without her managing to fall in love. Every now and then she had a hankering to try again but each relationship petered out in the end.
The closest she had gotten had been a mortal named Roger Lakeland in the 70s, who had talked her into getting engaged even. But he had died of old age in '92 before they had made it to an actual wedding. Roger had been the last person with whom Catarina had tried to have a committed romantic relationship. Ever since, she had stuck to the occasional one-night-stand and then Manu, with whom she had a friends-with-benefits type of thing.
Magnus frowned a tad. "I honestly wasn't expecting you to say this at all, Cat. I thought Manu understood everything…"
Catarina had only recently started to use the word "aromantic" for herself. When they were younger, she had called herself a "willful spinster" and left it at that, but times had changed and new words had been formed. Catarina had comfortably settled into her new identity about four years before. She had told Magnus that Manu had understood when she'd explained her feelings to him then, but perhaps something had changed.
Jerry appeared at the table with their main meals and quietly set their plates before them, not interrupting again and simply going about his work. Magnus made a mental note to tip him extra for his insightful intuition.
Magnus' mouth watered a bit as he caught the rich scent of his lamb but he focused back onto Catarina as she spoke.
"For almost a year or so now he's been kind of pushing for more." She sounded annoyed and a bit tired.
Magnus frowned. "You never said…not that you owe me an explanation or anything."
Catarina sighed as she dug into her salmon. "I didn't want to bother you with something so trivial what with everything that you've been dealing with…Valentine and Madzie and Alec."
Magnus set down his fork of broccoli before it reached his mouth. "It wouldn't be trivial to me, Cat. You're my best friend. I want to know if you're unhappy. Plus you listen to me complain about my life all the time. I'm always happy to return the favor."
Catarina smiled at him, her red lipstick fading quickly as she ate.
He went back to his food and carried on, "So, how did Manu take it?"
Catarina shrugged. "As well as expected. We fought a little but it's pretty definitively over. It's a bit of a relief, to be honest."
Magnus shook his head. "Good riddance then," he said and saluted her with his wine. They clinked glasses and went to imbibe.
"I will miss his tongue, though," she said, her own tongue poking her cheek salaciously.
Magnus coughed as he choked on a laugh, wine gone down the wrong pipe.
"A divine palate, would you say," he shot back when he got control of his cough.
"Truly a gift from the gods."
Magnus' eyes gleamed. "You didn't find him a bit mouthy?"
"That only bothered me when he spoke," she said and wiggled her eyebrows.
They both dissolved into giggles and a tear squeezed from Magnus' eye. He dabbed at it lightly, trying not to smudge his makeup.
They talked then for a long time about many things: work, the food…a documentary on Netflix she had recommended to him. They finished their meal and Magnus was already on his fourth glass of wine. He had decided to have Jerry leave the bottle so as not to bother the young man with constant refills. Catarina had likewise asked for a carafe of juice for herself.
It was a good talk, as always with Catarina. A fine distraction from the several things that had so thoroughly thrown him that day. From Madzie's punishment talk that morning to his and Alec's non-fight about her adoption to Hamish's solicitation to murder. Yet as the meal went on, Magnus could sense Catarina growing curious and the things he had been trying to ignore began pressing on his mind again.
"Alright, Magnus, we've talked about me and my work and the prison industrial complex…it's time to talk about you," she said, staring deep into his eyes. "What happened today that has you so worried?"
Magnus sighed and very discretely raised a localized privacy spell around their table. It would deflect attention from them and prevent people from overhearing their conversation.
Catarina widened her eyes, knowing exactly what the spell was. They had long since mastered how to talk in public without letting mundanes know what they were saying but now she knew he wanted to be more direct.
"Okay…" she said wonderingly.
He told her about Hamish and the attempted hit solicitation. After she worried with him over the young woman, Lorna, she admitted that she found the whole idea of him as a paid assassin slightly amusing.
"There's something else, Magnus. Something more than this business with MacIntyre."
"Where to even start," he said, contemplating his wine. He glanced to the front of the restaurant and saw that the sky was already getting dark as twilight approached. He noticed that the restaurant had shifted to serving dinner, the meals being delivered beyond the faint edge of his privacy barrier reflecting the change in menu.
"Start from the beginning," Catarina said, her voice pulling him back to look at her.
He met her eyes and before he knew it everything that had happened that morning with Madzie and Alec poured out. She listened without interruption and only spoke when he trailed off after explaining dropping Madzie off with Tessa.
Catarina sucked in a slow breath. "And all before noon?"
Magnus hummed.
"Well, it sounds as if Alec took it fairly well, considering."
"True," he said. "I still feel like I bungled it somehow. Maybe if I hadn't waited so long to bring it up. I could've told him before he went to the Clave conference or…or-"
"Stop," she cut in. "You can't lament the past like that, Magnus. What's done is done. Besides, Madzie was in Florida then. There was every reason to think her and the Morenos would work out. Even I thought Gigi and Elena were a good fit for her. She only came back to you after he'd already left for his work. Don't beat yourself up about something that's not even true."
Magnus nodded obediently. "I just wish I knew what he was going to do," he said. He tried valiantly not to let a whine into his voice but the look Catarina gave him told him he'd failed.
"What do you want to happen," she asked gently.
Magnus shook his head, not even sure himself. "I don't even know. I want this to not be a problem."
"That's unrealistic, Magnus."
"When have I ever held to realism? Unless you mean magical realism…" He twirled a graceful hand near his face and quirked an eyebrow.
"You know what I meant. Don't deflect."
He did know. "I know it's not fair of me to ask this of him but…I wish there was some way I could tell him that he wouldn't have to worry about us or about suddenly becoming a father. I want to adopt Madzie myself, he doesn't need to have any part in it at all, if he wishes."
"From what you've said, it seems you have told him that."
Magnus waved dismissively, "Well, I wish there was some way that Alec would believe me."
Catarina's eyes grew sharp. "And if he doesn't? If he decides that this is too much and he can't date a single father, what then?"
Magnus went quiet, avoiding her eyes.
"I don't want to be cruel, Magnus, but you need to think about this possibility. You are making a choice to bring this little girl into your life and the consequences might be painful for you. What will you do if Madzie causes you to lose Alec?"
It was unthinkable. Yet Catarina was forcing him to contemplate it. He felt a flash of anger then, burning hot and red and bitter, before it quickly faded. No, that wasn't fair to her. Magnus had been afraid of that outcome for a long time too. Ever since he had started contemplating taking in Madzie full time. Catarina was only looking out for him, as she always did. He hoped his eyes had stayed the mellow brown of his glamour so she couldn't tell what he had briefly thought.
"I- I know it could happen, that he could…leave me."
She reached over and settled her hand on his arm which had been lying on the white tablecloth next to his empty plate.
"Could you accept it? Would you let him go or would you go back to trying to place Madzie?"
He met her eyes then and pulled his arm until he could catch her hand in his.
"Madzie is just a child. I'm the adult. I can- I can't keep moving her around. It's not good for her," he licked his lips and Catarina squeezed at his fingers.
Even as he struggled to speak, the answer to Catarina's question hung on the tip of his tongue. He remembered the way Madzie's hand swung in his as they jumped from the portal into the Spiral Labyrinth that afternoon. The way her hair bounced as she ran to join the other little warlock children playing in the mystic horticultural garden. The way her tears dripped like clear pearls as she clung to him when she cried.
"She's my child, Cat. It's already too late to turn back," he whispered, voice afraid.
Catarina shook her head sadly as she said, "It'd tear you apart to give him up, Magnus."
Alec's handsome face was shining in his mind, caught in that bashful smile he had whenever he was embarrassed, cheeks burning a light rose. The strength of his grip echoed across Magnus' skin in memory. The way his archer's callouses felt against him when they made love. The sound of his voice, heavy and rough, in the morning when they woke from slumber.
Magnus sucked in a shuddering breath and looked at Catarina with a watery smile.
"I would just have to bear it."
And he would. Somehow.
A/N: Well, there you go. A long chapter for you. Leave some comments for me, guys. Let me know how I'm doing. :)