Chapter 25: One on One

Inside Club Pandemonium, Magnus Bane was busy working with a number of staff members, going over the number of gigs they were hosting for the next month. Clients were always flocking to his doors, doing anything and everything they could for an opportunity to work with the infamous Magnus Bane. His venues were always open for hire, from hosting dance fundraisers, to school proms and even the occasional charity case. He had a number of reliable staff members doing the best they could, organizing the shifts for the DJ's and the number of bartenders and bouncers required each night.

The biracial man crossed the dance floor and flopped down in one of the booths, leaning against the back of the leather seat as he looked at his phone. Chairman Meow himself was parading across the floor, twisting through the legs of his workers and leaping up on one of the bar stools, flicking his tail in a coy manner. Magnus himself was dressed in far more casual attire, sporting a purple dinosaur onesie with the hood hanging down the back of his neck. He ran his fingers through his thick hair, feeling pleased at the outcome of his visit at the salon. The purple highlights were faded from the scalp onwards, but they added to the mysterious enigma that was Magnus Bane, and he couldn't help but puff his chest out with pride.

Lies. He was a narcissus twenty-four seven. Even Magnus himself admitted he was a total peacock. A luxurious and exotic one at that.

"Mags."

The young man looked up at a woman in her mid-twenties. White hair was twisted in a loose bun, with dark skin covered in a baggy woolen jumper and a paneled knee-length skirt featuring colors like the forest. Catarina Loss gazed at her close childhood friend with an intense gaze.

"Catarina," Magnus said happily. "I didn't know you were coming here. I thought you were still up at Beth Israel."

"I'm not on until two," she stated simply, sliding into the booth across from him. "I thought I might come see how bad this place looks. First time I've actually been to this place."

Magnus smiled. Catarina was an accomplished doctor, graduating from Oxford University the same year as Ragnor and he. She'd taken her skills over here to America and was employed in Beth Israel hospital, using her particular skillset to help out those in life-threatening situations. While she seemed to be calm and collected at first glance, Magnus knew how much she craved for the curiously wonderful things in the world. She was always the first of their group to suggest such wild things, from rooftop stargazing on the dangerous slopes of the university halls of residence, to midnight games of manhunt back with the rest of the Oxford lot.

"Must you wear pajama's in broad daylight?" She criticized humorlessly.

"I'll have you know that this is one of the greatest innovations in the fashion industry," Magnus defended. "Besides, I seem to recall that a certain someone use to cosplay every Friday as an anime heroine."

"My outfits had taste. Culture. They had a meaning behind them. Your outfit here just screams that you were too lazy to look decent."

"I am the great Magnus Bane of Brooklyn," Magnus stated airily. "Even I can make a mere sack-cloth look like the robes of a king. This here—" he gestured to his entire form, "is fashion. Judge me not, heathen."

Catarina rolled her eyes and let a smirk fall on her face. "Ever the drama queen, huh Mags."

Magnus combed his fingers through his hair and changed the subject to something more neutral. "How have you been by the way, Catarina?"

"Same old, same old, you know?" She replied breezily. "Saving lives one accident at a time. Do you have any idea how crazy these Americans are? Always getting themselves in such ridiculous situations. Yesterday I had to deal with a man who had his fingers stuck in a meat grinder."

The wealthy socialite winced, a gruesome image filling up the recess of his mind. "How'd you get the poor sucker out?"

"His colleagues managed to pull apart majority of the machine and we freed his hands. However the nerves in his hand were severely damaged so we had to operate—"

"Interpret that to modern English please," Magnus interrupted.

Catarina huffed and shook the stray white strands out of her eyes. "His hand is alright but he won't be able to fully utilize it for the rest of his life. Is that easy enough for you to understand?"

"…Yes."

The doctor rolled her deep blue eyes and leaned against the tabletop. Chairman Meow sauntered along and rubbed against her legs. "Are you feeding him?" Catarina asked worriedly, picking the cat up for her to inspect. "He looks a little malnourished."

"I'll have you know that Chairman Meow receives five-star quality meals everyday," Magnus answered staunchly. How dare she challenge his care-giving skills? What blasphemy. "My cat is in fit condition and is not a bag of skin and bones, as you are so kindly implying."

"Stop reading into things, you drama queen. I just want to know that you've been looking after him alright, especially after Great Gatsby – oh please, are you crying?"

Magnus's eyes were quietly shining and he wiped away before Catarina could make another remark. "Do not disturb the memory of Great Gatsby," Magnus whimpered. Great Gatsby had been his loving grey cat during his years at Oxford, but after a number of years the cat had disappeared. The day of his disappearance, Gatsby had given Magnus and Catarina one last lick, and even let Ragnor stroke his fur before leaping out the window sill into the beyond. "God knows where Great Gatsby is dwelling now."

Catarina rolled her eyes and resumed stroking the small cat before her, the ball of fur purring in content with her ministrations. "I went to go see her last week."

Magnus froze up and stared blandly at Catarina. Her expressions held no sign that she was joking, her eyes completely unreadable. The atmosphere had taken a turn for the worst, cold and somber.

"…How is she?" He asked quietly.

"She's coping," Catarina replied quietly. "No one's been harassing her, and the guards are ignoring her now." A soft smile graced her lips and she looked at Magnus softly. "She's grateful for the books you sent in to her. She said she would've gone mad with insanity if you hadn't sent in Jane Austen to rescue her."

The socialite smiled and threaded his fingers through his hair. Although Oxford held a lot of memories of family, warmth and happiness, there were also dark shadows that lingered, reminders of people who never received their share of happy endings.

"What of… what of Woolsey? How's that guy doing?"

The doctor rubbed her eyes in contemplation. "Woolsey is the same as always, I guess. Wild, but still the same. He's been keeping an eye out on Tess as well."

Magnus nodded and leaned back in the booth. "Was this the real reason you came?" He asked genuinely. "To give me a report on how our friends are?"

Catarina nodded. "I know you send her letters, Mags. And she's truly grateful for that, you know? She was smiling when I came in, and she showed me all the letters she's been collecting over the past year."

Magnus smiled. "I'm glad." He missed his dear friend so much, and every day when he woke up, he prayed to whatever deity that existed in heaven or hell for the safety of his closest friends. "Thank you, for telling me this."

Catarina smirked and reached across to ruffle Magnus's black and purple hair. "What are friends for?"

After Catarina had left, warning him that he'll be in trouble if Chairman Meow was an unhealthy condition the next time she came to visit, he flopped back in his seat. The entrepreneur looked at the time on his phone and tapped his fingers idly against the tabletop. Alec had scheduled to come meet up with him to see the footage, and Magnus felt a little excited at the prospect of seeing that handsome young man again.

After the fiasco regarding Valentine Morgenstern spreading throughout the city, the NYPD had been under heavy fire from the press, with endless reporters and journalists trailing after the commissioner for confirmation on rumors circulating the streets. Originally, Magnus and Alec had planned to get drinks the previous night, but with all that Morgenstern nonsense piling up, they had to cancel.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for Magnus? I'm meeting up with him."

"Over there."

Magnus tilted his head and smiled. Alexander was a rare kind of beauty, with his favorite combination of blue eyes and black hair. He had a nervous aura about him, especially when it came to being complimented and observed by others around him. He was such a shy young man, always second-guessing the opinions that others held for him.

Magnus aimed to change that manner of thinking. For someone with such gorgeous looks, he completely downplayed his beauty, seeing himself only second-best in comparison to that blonde man that Clary had shown interest in.

Blondes, Magnus thought dismissively, his mind thinking back on a past lover of his. As pretty as they are, they're manufactured with the same traits – pretty, arrogant, and tiring.

The eldest Lightwood sibling wore an outfit that suited him perfectly. The faded blue round-neck sweater he wore over his black shirt succeeded in bringing out the depth of blue in his eyes, although his black jeans were somewhat a little threadbare over the knees. Nevertheless, it was somewhat befitting of Alec's personality; not too outspoken, but not entirely lacking in style.

Alec made his way to the man and his eyes widened in surprise. "A dinosaur onesie?" he questioned.

Magnus stood up out of the booth and held both arms out. "Sometimes the desire for comfort outweighs the high demands for runway fashion."

Alec's eyes dropped down Magnus figure and a bright pink blush crept up along the nape of his neck. Curious, Magnus looked down at himself to see what had set the young lad aflame and smirked. The onesie was a zip-up, and the only thing he was currently wearing underneath was a pair of maroon boxer briefs. The zipper had fallen to just below his sternum and the material had fallen open to reveal his muscular tanned chest.

Saving the poor policeman from embarrassment Magnus zipped himself up, plastered an innocent smile on and gestured to Alec. "You wanted to see those recordings right? From the night that Sanguine member died?" The young man nodded. "Well then, by all means Officer Lightwood, please follow me."

The security room had a number of screens plastered along the back wall, with a sleek black running along the length of the wall beneath. A few computers were set up along the bottom, and there was a cupboard installed in the corner for security to store their stuff. Beside it was a mini fridge, stocked with various confectionary sweets and fizzy drinks for the monitors.

The room had a dark color scheme to it, but didn't give off a claustrophobic sense to it, which was comforting for Magnus. The last thing he wanted whenever he entered a room was to feel like he couldn't breathe.

The pair entered the room and Alec immediately went to the desk, pulling out one of the chairs at the desk. The blue-eyed man looked up at the screens in surprise and jerked a thumb at them. "Is this all the footage from that night?"

Magnus had already taken the liberty of pulling up the necessary files from Pandemonium's party and had them all pulled up on the screens, each of them depicting the same night from a different angle. "I thought I'd make your job easier for you," he replied smoothly. "God knows how hectic things are when you're expected to make order out of chaos from scratch."

The young man blushed again. A sincere smile made its way onto his face, making him far more gorgeous to admire than any priceless painting or runway model.

"Mmmhmm."

"Did you say something?"

"No," Magnus said brightly.

Alec turned his attention back to the screens and moved his fingers across the keyboard, playing each of the videos simultaneously and looking for the target of interest. Magnus looked at the screens up above, darting his eyes across one by one. The night had been an excessive one, with an insurmountable number of people flooding the gates of the one and only Bane. Only by looking at the footage now did he realize just how popular he was.

The rookie policeman kept twisting his head, enhancing and reducing the screens that he deemed to be useful for his investigation. There was a certain order to he way he did things, devoting his complete skillset and focus to the attention at hand.

"Anything in particular that you're looking for?" Magnus inquired, leaning against the frame of the desk and looking up at the screens.

Alec tugged at the neck of his shirt. "When Isabelle was talking to the guy, he said that he was getting beat up by a male with white hair. The guy was very agitated when he spoke to her, saying that a young man and another girl were

"So what are you looking for exactly?"

Alec brushed his fingers along the keyboard and enhanced one lone camera angle. "Confrontation and torture."

Magnus's eyes widened. Alec had selected a camera from one of the separate boxes up the top. Though the camera primarily displayed the dance floor, the camera caught part of the balcony overlooking the floor. A man was on a chair, with a tall intimidating man leaning over him. His back was facing the camera and prevented the duo from seeing his face. The young guy had a fearful look on his face while the man looking down at him had fair silver-blonde hair as beautiful as captured starlight, with a strong, lean build dressed in a handsome suit.

Alec froze the frame and stood up to get a closer look at the screen. Magnus watched how his face lit up with a fierce sense of righteousness. There was something moving about the way he looked. His stance conveyed a strong sense of justice as his were determined to get to the bottom of things.

"Do you mind if I take a copy of the footage you have here?" Alec asked, craning his neck towards Magnus.

The socialite waved a flash-drive between his fingers, wearing a coy smirk on his face. "Already taken care of."

Alec pushed the seat away and pocketed the flash-drive from his hands. "Thanks. This just made things a whole lot easier on our end. Hopefully this will put my sister in a good mood and get this case over and done with."

Magnus tilted his head at the young man's words. "You don't sound particularly happy about your sister being involved."

Alec sighed heavily and ran his fingers through his hair. Magnus so desperately wanted to have the pleasure of doing so but remained completely nonchalant as he listened to Alec's take on the matter at hand.

"Izzy is fierce and extremely diligent in her occupation as a police officer," Alec praised with a warm light in his eyes. "She's completely devoted to the job and will go to the ends of the earth to get a case done and dusted. But sometimes, she can get … obsessed with certain cases, especially when she feels guilt-driven by it. Sometimes she feels like she has to complete it for the sake of others."

"But is that not an admirable trait for one to have? To be completely loyal to one's task and to finish it at all costs?"

"It would be… if she wasn't so damn stubborn. She's goes too far at times and ends up overlooking the dangers of the things she's involving herself in. As her older brother, I have a responsibility to make sure she stays safe. That all of siblings are safe, you know? My mandate from heaven since birth, you could say. If she keeps diving headfirst into danger, then I won't be able to live with myself if she doesn't survive."

Alec was in a deep trance, obviously caught between two possible outcomes. On the one hand, Magnus could see how much Alec cared for his sister, and how desperately he wanted to shield her from the backlash that could result from the many choices she made. But at the same time, Alec was forcing himself to step back. He didn't want to ruin his relationship with his sister and force himself upon her, but he couldn't see any other way to protect her.

Magnus's heart leapt within his chest. He wanted to comfort this blue-eyed angel, to give him a way out of this mess. The man with golden skin and tiger-like eyes moved off the desk and stood in front of Alec. He placed both hands on the officer's shoulders and gazed deeply into mesmerizing blue eyes, a mixture of cobalt deeper than the storm-tossed sea with flecks of electrifying cerulean blue that sent shivers to the core.

"Your sister will be fine, Alexander," Magnus said soothingly. "She knows how to take care of herself. Just be sure that she knows that there's a lending hand for her to use if the matter ever arises."

Alec nodded in affirmation, his lower lashes brushing down against his cheek. The young man lowered his eyes and they darkened considerably. Magnus felt his body temperature rise beneath his gaze, feeling a fire spark within him.

"Magnus," he rasped. "Do you have any idea how distracting this outfit is?"

Magnus twitched as he felt a pair of cool hands wander across his bare chest. He looked back down at himself and saw that the zipper had fallen free again, this time ending just above his navel. He looked back at Alec and grinned amorously. Alec's breath hitched in the back of his throat and before he knew it, Magnus was kissing him.

To be fair, Magnus had kissed many men and women throughout his life. But none of them, not even the woman he once thought of as the love of his life, could ever compare to this.

Fire and ice battled one with another, a beautiful chaos that was as old as humanity itself. Alec's lips were more than willing to participate, moving against Magnus's own lips with an eager passion that matched the wealthy entrepreneur's heated desire. His senses were overrun by so many things happening at once; Alec pushing him against the desk, Alec's hands shyly winding their way up and down his chest, Alec pushing the sleeves of his suit back to give him more skin to conquer, Alec this, Alec that.

His chest rumbled as Magnus pried his fingers in the waistband of Alec's jeans, pulling him closer to his body. His hands were deft and quick, sliding up along the sides of the lanky blue-eyed beauty, mapping every aspect of his body. He wanted to learn everything that was Alexander Lightwood, to discover every bit of him, to explore his entire being.

Magnus brought Alec's face up to his and gently kissed him, alternating soft bites between his upper and lower lip. "Aren't you adventurous today," he murmured softly.

"It's the bloody outfit," Alec mumbled, letting out a groan as Magnus fastened his lips to his collarbone, trapping the officer in his embrace.

"Might wear stuff like this more often," Magnus teased against his skin. Alec tasted of lavender and soap, his lips pressed to his beating pulse. "Plenty of easy access. Might start a new fashion trend." In one swift movement Magnus gripped Alec as his teeth grazed Alec's skin. Alec let out a soft whimper, gripping Magnus's tousled hair for support.

The little demon inside Magnus cried out for an encore.

"D-don't you have work to do?" Alec asked breathlessly, his head swimming from Magnus's kisses.

"I have a previous engagement later on tonight," Magnus replied between kisses. "I just came in today because you needed help." Magnus pulled back breathlessly and his eyes sparkled. "Join me."

Alec's breathing slowed down to a more appropriate and his flustered face stared back at Magnus in confusion. "Join you? But won't it be awkward for you to suddenly drag someone along? Especially someone like me?"

Oh, Alexander. Magnus could see how uneasy Alec felt about himself. The young man was so inept in the field of love. Magnus put both hands on Alec's face, stroking his jawline with his thumb. "It's nothing serious," he promised the young policeman. "Just a band performance at a local jazz club with a few friends. No fancy suit or politicians floating about if that's what you're worried about." His lower lip dropped into a pout. "Please come? It'll be our make-up for Taki's. I promise you'll have a good time."

Alec blinked his eyes, pondering Magnus's words. Magnus truly wanted Alec to come with him that night, not because he hoped to resume their session later on, but he wanted to know more about him. He wanted to know what his likes and dislikes were, what his aspirations in life were, whether he was a reckless child in his younger days. Although that last one sounded too ridiculous to apply to Alec. He wanted Alec to know that he was serious about him - he wasn't coming onto him just for his pretty face. He wasn't dumb; Magnus knew that many jealous ex-lovers had bragged to anyone with a listening ear about the scandalous affairs of one Magnus Bane.

"Okay," Alec replied shyly.

Magnus Bane, renowned business entrepreneur and high-class socialite of Brookyn, New York, smiled and placed a chaste kiss on Alexander's nose. 'Thank you for accepting."

Alto Bar was a rather posh place, to say the least. The venue itself could hold a maximum of three hundred at best, making it rather small on the overall scale of social popularity throughout New York. On the outside it seemed quaint to the naked eye, nothing too impressive to look at. The interior of the venue however…

That was something else entirely.

"It's only one shot!"

The inside of the venue seemed to have been teleported from a bygone era, where the streets of new york were littered with night time parades, and men dressed in pinstripe suits while women spun about in flapper dresses with glittering sequined headbands.

"No, you lot are on tonight and I will not have my best friend getting tipsy and spewing all over the floor."

The inside of the venue had several tables spread out throughout the room, each facing towards the stage that was lit up with dimmed spotlights, with Edison lamps embedded along the walls. Each table had an alternate centerpiece of a old lamp, with fresh flowers nestled around the outside of it. The tables were based around the outskirts of the dance floor, paneled with polished mahogany wood. The stage was raised three feet off the ground, and speaker boxes were placed at the bottom to blast the music through the air.

"Please? You know that we have to have this."

Vinyl records hung along the walls, depicting some of the greatest one-hit wonders of all time. The skylight overhead spilled its pale moonlight onto the floor. Up the stairs just a little was the game room, set up with dartboards, pool tables, and several waiters holding freshly dealt card packs at the ready.

"No. No, I won't have it. I am classified as a regular here and I will be forever shamed if you guys make a mess."

The members of Changeling were lined up at the bar, each of them pulling their own rendition of the infamous puppy-dog face at the stoic redhead seated beside them. Eric wore black jeans and had a brown leather jacket thrown over the top of his shoulders, while Kirk wore a long sleeve shirt with a scarf wrapped around his neck, and a beanie hanging loosely off his head. Matt had a long-line grey cardigan on and wore his signature goofy smirk, holding his hands high from a kneeled position. Finally Simon stared up pleadingly at Clary with puffy eyes; he wore dark chinos with brown suspenders over a white shirt and waistcoat, with a black fedora tilted skew atop his head.

"But it's tradition!" they pleaded with one voice.

Clary looked down at them coldly from her barstool, refusing to yield to their pitiful cries. Her hair danced about her face in soft wavy curls that cascaded down her back. She wore a burgundy high neck Victoriana dress paired with black stockings and maroon timberlands that threatened to stomp on their hands. The hemline skirted around her knees and she glanced at the fours boys prostrating themselves before her.

"Again, no," she growled, darting her eyes throughout the club. The club was fairly busy, with people dancing on the floor to the eight o'clock band that was currently performing on stage. People were lounging about and feasting on the food available on the menu, while triumphant cries could be heard from the winners up in the games room. Thankfully, no one paid too much attention to the boys before her. The last thing she needed was for everyone to think that they were begging her for an orgy party.

All four of them threw themselves at her feet, looking up at her with despair.

"Get up off the floor you idiots," she groaned.

All four men shook their heads defiantly. "Either you let us have our warm-up drink," Eric whined, "or we start acting like total douchebags! Who cares if the ladies don't want us?"

"I care!" Kirk objected. "But still, c'mon Clary! We have to do this! It's the bro-code tradition."

Clary stared down at each of them with a cool expression. All four boys had such goofy sad faces, pouting and blinking at her with big, glassy eyes. As if that could crack her resolve. "You guys are staying sober tonight," she ordered, spinning on the chair. Nothing could break through to her. She had an iron will, one that would not be broken through so easil-

"What about 'Reeses Pieces'?" Simon offered. "The guys have a bucket of that backstage."

Clary's eye twitched. Just as she was on the verge of downing her cherry coke drink, Simon had to throw the bait.

Iron will. Iron will. Iron will. Iron will. "Not a chance boys."

"That's not all!" Eric cried out nervously. He stood up and rushed over to a bag that he'd stashed at a table, bringing it back to them group. Recognition crossed over Kirk's face and he cried out in defiance. "Eric you can't! That's my last on—" Matt and Simon grabbed ahold of the band geek, preventing him from going up to stop Eric. Matt held his hand around Kirk's mouth and nodded silently at Eric.

"I'm sorry boys," he cried. He dug his hand inside the bag and pulled out a 750 ml bottle of chocolate milk.

Not just any milk.

Whitaker's chocolate milk.

Unlike other chocolate milk, this was the good stuff. It literally tasted like someone had grabbed a block of chocolate and had melted the damn thing into liquid form. Even when you added normal milk to half a bottle of the stuff, you could still taste milk chocolate on your tongue. The first time Clary had tried the stuff, her insides had melted from the pure taste of it, and she'd fought off many who tried to get a taste.

The mere memory of it practically made her foam at the mouth.

She grudgingly set her glass down on the bench and held out her hand for her trade. The moment she had the bottle back in her hands she pulled away as fast as a bullet before they could change their minds. Her entire persona changed as she looked stowed the bottle away in her bag and she smiled sweetly at the band. "Go ahead you guys," she cooed. "I'll pay for it."

The boys yelped gleefully – although Matt seemed somewhat discordant about the way the matter was settled, and sat down at the counter.

"Bartender!" Eric cried. "Four Zombies." The boys stared at each other with competitive stares, and Clary cursed herself for what she'd just agreed to. She would not be responsible for any stupid stunts they pulled during the night.

She silently forked out the money from her wallet and handed it over to the bartender. "For these idiots," she gestured to the group beside her.

She stood up and left the boys to their drinks, heading over to where their bags were. She dropped it off at the table and leaned against one of the chairs, looking at the strangers twirling to the music playing through the air. This was her kind of zone. She was a vintage girl at heart, finding delight in the fashions of long ago, and the amazing places that existed one upon a time. Her idea of a dream date was to go to a drive-thru movie, where movies were played on the big screen, and you could eat popcorn and ice cream from the safety of your own car.

"Excuse me pretty lady," a voice from her side said. Clary turned her head and looked into a pair of dark brown eyes set in a young face with curly tawny-brown hair. The young man before her was a little younger than her, but he held a wide smile on his face. He held out one hand and bowed slightly at the hip. "You seem so lonely, and I wondered perhaps if a dance would cheer you up?"

Clary smiled. Unless he was completely crude, Clary would never begrudge any man who offered her a dance, especially if their manners were on point. "My pleasure."

The man led her out onto the stage and she placed her hands perfectly in his hands and on his shoulder. He spun her around and the pair danced happily, swinging their arms around as they twirled about across the floor. Clary arched an eyebrow in surprise; the guy had moves fit for a bachelor on the ballroom floor.

"You certainly know how to dance," she complimented.

"Took a few classes for my high school proms," he replied with a cheeky grin. "Had to show the ladies at Fair Francis that I had the moves on lock."

"No doubt they were all very impressed,' she praised. "Seems your feet have a good memory."

The young lad grinned goofily as he picked Clary up, twirling her around. She let out a fit of giggles and couldn't help the euphoric happiness that poured out from her. This guy just had a happy air about him – he wasn't trying to flirt with Clary or anything, but rather wanted to make sure that she had a good time. In another tie perhaps, Clary could see herself getting along well with this guy before her.

"Come here often?" he asked.

"Yeah." She tilted her head at his voice. His voice had lilting sound to the way he pronounced his vowels. "You from Ireland?"

"Scotland," he corrected. "Right next door to the land of the leprechauns. Lemme guess - the accent gave it away?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I'm Clary."

"George." He pulled away from her and held his hand out for her to shake. "George Lovelace."

"Nice to meet you George," she greeted charmingly.

As if on cue, the boys rocked their way onto the stage, earning a million and one cries of happiness from the many fans amongst the crowd. "Are you here for Changeling?" she asked curiously.

"Yeah," George said ecstatically. "I love those guys! They're amazing as heck."

Clary smiled on behalf of her books. As goofy as they were, they were more real than half the bands known throughout mainstream media. They had talent, they had the voice, and they had the personality to go with it.

Kirk walked up to the front of the stage with a crooked smile on, waving at the crowds below. Eric counted a four-beat intro and started beating away on the drums, while Matt began to work his magic on the keyboard and started rapping the lyrics.

Somebody gimme one more cuz I just ran out
I don't go to the clubs and I don't stand out
Balls to the wall in the basement partyin'
Doesn't matter what bar we in or what car we in
Big Red on the 1s and 2s,
Now I know just what to do
Start goin' buck wild cuttin' up the rug
In the middle of the music dealers living room
It's like "BOOM"
How ya like me now?
Fans do the wave so I surf the crowd
Speakers blown cuz we get so loud
Never sell out but our shows sold out
Get 'em like "HEY!"
Gettin' torn up in the middle of the day
Radical Something, you know what they say:
"Once you get a little taste then you'll never be the same"

(Kirk) Step right up, it's the last night
It's the last night, it's the last night
In the city of lights
It's the last night, it's the last night
It's the last night,
To do what we came to do

The crowd started going wild as the atmosphere relaxed into a more calming zone, with everyone losing themselves to the music at hand. Clary bid young George farewell as he was whisked away by another girl, eternally grateful that he'd asked her to dance. She twirled her way off the dance floor, kindly declining the offers of other men who pleaded for a dance with her. As much as she loved to dance, she needed to let her feet every so often. She looked back at the bar where her best friend was residing and tilted her head in surprise.

"Clary!" Isabelle waved frantically.

The dark-haired woman was a stunning figure of beauty and badass. Isabelle was dressed to the nines, sporting a plum long-sleeve cut out dress with a thick white-gold chain looped around her slender neck. Her fell in soft waves across her shoulders, a dark curtain framing her fair skin and dark lips. Her make-up was astonishing, simple but enough to enhance her features to the max, with retro red lips pursed upwards in a playful pout.

"You look adorable," she complimented, reaching out to play with Clary's soft curls. "I love the Timberlands."

"Thanks." Clary suspected that Isabelle's words were sincere; in her life majority of people that were beautiful never put much meaning in their compliments. But somehow she didn't get that feeling from the police-woman. She looked down at her shoes and widened her eyes at the four inch white strappy heels. "Aren't those had to walk in?" she questioned worriedly.

"Nah, I've walking in heels since the day I turned fifteen," she said in a blasé tone. "It'll take a lot more for me to fall down than just mere heels." She flicked her hair carelessly off her face and glanced coyly at Clary. "Who was that guy you were dancing with?"

"Just some young, lovestruck boy," Clary sighed. "But alas our love was not meant to be. He is much to young to be a contender for my heart," she belted in a dramatic tone as she flung her hand over eyes, "And another young maiden captured his attentions and turned him away from my sights. Oh how I shall miss his goofiness and his... brown hair."

Isabelle smirked at Clary's dramatic flair while Simon was choking back his laughing fit. Clary tossed her hair over shoulder and held her arms out for praise. "I know. My skills are so on point." She sat down by Isabelle on another barstool and looked at her nails. "So... where are your siblings?"

"Alec's off doing god knows what tonight, and Jace is walking around somewhere," Isabelle said frankly.

Clary nodded and folded her hands across her chest. With Jace's kiss and Jonathan's tantrum still fresh in her mind, Clary wanted nothing more than to avoid future circumstances where she was all on her lonesome with the golden boy. One kiss was enough to leave her wanting more; another would only spell out disaster.

'I'm sure we'll see him some time tonight," Clary said off-handedly. She looked back at Simon, who hadn't uttered a single word since she came over, his face a bright blushing pink. "Did Simon tell you he was singing tonight?"

"No," Isabelle said in confusion. She turned her face back to the bass player and tilted her head. "Are you actually singing tonight?"

"Y-yeah," Simon stuttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Why the hell didn't you say anything?" Isabelle exclaimed joyfully. The two broke away into their own conversation, completely forgetting about Clary's presence. She didn't mind. From the looks of it, Simon looked like he was sincerely surprised by how Isabelle was interested in him and his band. She kept firing questions, and he would give long lengthy answers to which Isabelle would listen to attentively. Clary was surprised by Isabelle's behaviour.

More ammo for our catch-up later on, Clary thought evilly. Her phone went of in her pocket and she pulled it out without looking at the caller I.D. "Bonjour-"

"Where are you?"

Clark's good mood disappeared in an instant. She looked at the couple before her and ever so slowly crept away from them, holding her phone to her chest as she made her way to a secluded corner of the bar. She breathed in deeply before holding the phone up to her ear. "Why do you need to know where I am?" She demanded coldly. 'We have nothing planned until next wee-"

"There's been a situation about the dockyard incident."

Clark's heart stumbled about in her chest and her mind jumped to a million and one conclusions. "Did someone find out?"

"No. But the man who provided the men for the cover-up, Mortmain, is calling us out for recompense for wasted goods. I paid him prior to the set-up, but now he wants more for his silence. If we don't shut this thing up, then father will have to intervene. And you know what happens to those who fail to smooth everything out on their own."

Clary shuddered at her brother's words. Valentine was strict when it came to business, and if you screwed up once, then the punishments he heaped upon you were crippling. It didn't matter if you were his most trusted underling or if you were family - if he had to get involved, then your life was good as gone. She felt herself slip into her Morgenstern persona as she asked her brother, "What are you planning?"

"I've set up a meet with Mortmain for negotiations tonight. We start off civil but if things go off-track and he starts being too persistent, well... I'm sure you know what we'll have to do."

The young redhead massaged her scalp. The meaning behind her words wasn't lost to her. She cast her eyes about the club, looking at all these carefree people. She looked at the boys as they sung their hearts out, at Simon who was being dragged by Isabelle out onto the dance floor. "I'm at Alto bar," she said hollowly.

"I'll be there in an hour. Be ready for my call." Click.

Clary pushed the phone back into her pocket and moved with as much energy as a snail. With the events to come, she'd need a little something strong to help her get through the night. She moved along and collided with a figure, banging her head against their chest.

"I'm so sorry," she grovelled. "I should've looked where I was going and-"

"Clary?"

Her bloodstream froze and her heart paused its beating. For a few seconds she was suspended in time as that voice fell across her ears. Her heart resumed its beating and went three times as fast as possible, her cheeks flaring up. She looked up at the man before her and winced at the extraordinary man before her.

Why? Why do you have to be here at the worst timing possible, looking so bloody beautiful while you're at it?

Jace Herondale stood in all his perfect glory, staring down at her with soldering gold eyes hidden behind hooded eyelids. His golden curls were in relaxing, tousled manner, with a few strands falling across his face. He wore grey trousers that were a little tight around his legs, with a black v-neck on that showcased tantalising tanned skin and collarbones. Thrown over the top to complete the outfit was a dark cobalt blue blazer with the sleeves rolled partway up his arms.

"Just the woman I was looking for," he said in a husky voice. He slid his hands off her shoulders and help them away from her petite build. His eyes held in a trance-like state and she felt a fervent heat rise from within.

'W-what do you need with m-me Jace?" She stuttered tragically.

He backed off slightly, wearing that same smug grin and bent low at the waist, holding one hand out invitingly towards her. "Dance with me."

Review. Rate. Whatever you want. I'm too tired at this point.

Lyrics - Step Right Up by Radical Something