-So sorry, ladies and gents for the excruciatingly long wait. Busy and hellish couple of weeks. Please take this chapter as an apology :)-

21

The Angels Sang a Whiskey Lullaby

Alec held him close, kissing his cheek, wiping tears away.

"God, I haven't thought about that boy in years," he whispered harshly.

"Shh," Alec soothed. "It wasn't your fault, baby."

"Yes it was," he said miserably. "I should've listened. I should've left with him! I should have sent him away! I should have protected him!"

"Shh, hey, hey, easy. It's okay, it's okay," Alec assured.

"I don't know how I can forgive myself for letting that innocent boy get killed like that. I realize how long ago it was, and that he forgave me…and that's why I don't think about him much. Guilt is crippling." Alec just held him. Magnus cried angrily, self loathing seeping from his eyes.

"It's not your fault, Magnus, it's done. You can't change that." He didn't listen. He couldn't. Not when he felt as awful as he did.

Stop pitying yourself you big baby! He snapped at himself. God, you're more of a woman than Jane Fonda!

Alec let him cry, but it only lasted for a minute before he was wiping his eyes and accepting the comfort Alec was offering.

Alec looked at Adriana sadly, exchanging words without saying anything. She nodded, looking at the back of Magnus's dark head.

She wished she'd been there for him. She wouldn't have let some of these awful things happen to him. Or she would have at least been there for him when he needed her the most.

But no. She had been selfish, stupid. But Magnus was here now, and he was just fine. Well, close to fine.

He wasn't that sweet, naïve boy anymore. He wasn't meek and any innocence he had was long gone. He was jaded, hardened, guarded. If he wasn't lost in his own world, or in Alec's eyes his face remained expressionless. He looked like a predator, watching every move around him, read to pounce when needed. He was Magnus, but not the one she had known, taught and practically raised all those centuries ago.

"Do you want to stop for today?" Alec asked.

"No," Magnus gulped, shaking his head and pulling away. "No, it's only four o'clock and I want to get this over with. Besides, we're getting to the good part."

Alec looked at him, heart aching. "If you're sure…" Magnus smiled, locking the tears down deep.

"Darling, I'm always sure."

My revenge on them was a terrible one. Looking back on it I understand that it was cruel, childish, and made me no better than them. But damn it felt good.

I found every single bastard that had laid a hand on Kristopher and planted his memories behind their eyes. A nightmare brought to life. They died just the way he did. Every cut, every bruise, every ounce of fear and pain was theirs', only I made damn sure that they died alone. They didn't deserve any comfort for what they'd done. It was the first time I had purposely done harm to a mundane using my powers.

The Clave? HA! They were far too busy with their bureaucratic nonsense to care about a few criminals that got bopped off by a witch throwing a temper tantrum. I didn't even receive a slap on the wrist.

I had a way to get out, now. I'd thought of doing it before, but I didn't want to have to completely uproot Kristopher.

Two months after Kristopher died my apartment burned to the ground. The body unrecognizable by anyone, the only clue happened to be the I.D, barely readable in the wallet in the pocket. Magnus Bane Jeffries was declared dead, cremated, ashes spread under a tree because no one bothered to claim a dead mobster.

I went to Boston- What? Oh, right.

I took Kristopher's body back to Ireland the day after he died. I cleaned him up, hid the horrible signs of his painful death so as not to despair his mother any more than this devastating would already. They didn't ask questions when I arrived, none about how I got him here, anyway.

I had to tell not only his mother and father, but his eight, yes eight younger sisters.

He'd been working in America tirelessly and sent half of the money he made back here to try and give them a better life. The eldest sister was almost marrying age, and with the baby always at risk to be sick he had no choice.

"How?" His mother choked, touching his face. "How did my baby die?"

"Fighting," I said softly. "Fighting for something he believed in…and protecting me. He didn't give an inch, madam, I assure you."

His father remained expressionless, such a tired looking man and looked much older than he should have staring at his only son's corpse.

"These were his things," I said, handing his small bag to his father. "The rest of the money he earned is in there as well, he'd want you to have it." He nodded, swallowing hard. I went to hand the jacket he wore nearly every day of his life to the eldest sister, Caitlyn.

"No," she said in Gaelic. "You must have been a close friend of his. And you were kind enough to bring him to us. Keep it…" She shook her head and said in English, "Sorry, you didn't understand that, did you?"

"Yes," I replied in her native language. "I understand." I took the jacket back from her, stopping myself from holding it to me as tightly as I could. "Thank you."

"Someone read him his last rights, didn't they?" His father said steadily.

"Yes sir," I nodded. He sighed.

"Good."

"You'll be staying for the funeral, won't you? Of course you will." I didn't really have a choice.

Let me tell you, those Irish know how to have a funeral. I've never seen so much whiskey in one place before.

I went home after that, now residing in Boston under the name Magnus Bane V. I had slipped in a depression worse than the one the country had gotten itself into with its' overspending. I felt as if those I cared about would either hurt me, or be hurt themselves. I felt like a lightning rod for bad omens and death. Armand had beaten me from day one, just as my parents had. Adriana had "died" because of me, and now poor Kristopher.

I did everything I could to get killed. I gambled, I drank, used my powers on any mundane that irked me, hoping that the Clave would wake the hell up and try get rid of me. As you can tell, they obviously didn't. And by the time they did I was nowhere to be found in America. I found a way out of my life of misery and guilt. On December 7, 1944, the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. The United States entered World War II, and I found my escape. Or, so I thought.