A/N: All dialogue of the anti-love potion comes from Shadowhunters episode 3x5 and is not my own. Thank you for being patient with me between updates, and for your participation in the poll! Looks like Morningwood is crushing it!

In another, unrelated topic, does anyone know if the rumors of fanfic dot net shutting down are true? I know there was/will be a server migration, but the prospect of losing all my content is terrifying and daunting. How have you all been dealing with this? If I start an account on AO3, would you still be interested in reading this story? Thanks loves! XOXOX

Devil in the Details

Monday mornings meant that Magnus was open for business.

Already, the apartment had hosted two Seelies cursed to feel each other's pain, a werewolf with a shedding problem, and a warlock who required some extra instruction on creating portals, and it wasn't even half past noon. Magnus' services had exploded now that he had more time to dedicate to them. Izzy needed to talk to him about whether or not she needed to find somewhere else to go during the day. Not that she didn't enjoy watching Magnus work, but she could tell that a lot of his clients weren't comfortable with a Shadowhunter sitting in the next room. Magnus was doing her a favor by taking her in. She didn't want to damage his reputation or livelihood even further.

The current guest was a woman. Izzy had heard her come in while she ran for her fifth bathroom break of the day, so she never heard the woman's name. While Izzy curled up on a couch in the living room, Magnus had taken the woman into his office. They wouldn't be able to see Izzy, but Izzy could see them thanks to a few strategically placed mirrors (thanks Alec). The two were sipping tea at the table he used to get to know his clients before accepting their jobs.

"I would have sworn I knew every warlock in the city," Magnus said, not unkindly but with a bit of intrigue.

"Oh, I'm not from around here." She took a drink from her tea and smiled.

Magnus returned her smile and stirred his own cup of tea. "And how is it that you heard about my services?"

She put her tea down entirely, growing more serious. "A friend spoke of you, the late Ragnor Fell." Izzy would have had to been blind to ignore the way the name affected Magnus. "I'm no slouch, but what I do need is beyond my level of expertise."

"Well, for a friend of Ragnor's, I would do just about anything," Magnus said, much to the woman's delight. Magnus abandoned his tea and went over to his work bench. "So, what do you need?"

She got up to follow him. "I'm looking for something that could make a person fall out of love. Is that something you can do?"

Now, Izzy was curious. She didn't think it was possible. She expected Magnus to laugh the woman out of his apartment. But Magnus kept a straight, if not slightly concerned face.

"I can, but I don't recommend it," Magnus said, a furrow building in his brow. Surely he was thinking what Izzy was: why make someone fall out of love? "You see, heartache, in all its bittersweet torture, is almost always preferable to the alternative. My elixir would erase everything you've ever felt for the other person. It would be almost as if you've never loved at all."

That sounded horrible. A fate worse than death. But it did not deter this warlock.

"Well, it's actually not for me. It's for a former lover, a soldier. I've tried to get him to move on but he's still in love, and his obsession is starting to distract him from his duties and, well, I worry...what could happen if he can't focus on the task at hand."

Something about her story pulled at the edges of Izzy's mind. Silent alarms started ringing, but she didn't know why. Even if this man was obsessed, removing his love couldn't be worse than letting life and fate run its course. Surely, love would not be the reason for his death.

Magnus was warring with the same thoughts, but in the end, he caved. His face broke into a sympathetic smile. "In the rare case, I suppose erasing love is actually an act of compassion."

The woman was pleased, smiling in gratitude. Maybe she was grateful she wouldn't have to defend her reasoning further. Whatever was going on with her and her soldier boy was private. If this were Izzy, she wouldn't want people prying into her business, especially not business so delicate. She had no idea what it was like to be so old, undying, and have people crumble around her. How terrifying, how surreal it must feel. She didn't know how Alec and Magnus managed it.

Will you have to watch me grow old and die? she wondered, rubbing a hand over her stomach. Her heart ached for her baby. Would you choose to erase my love?

Magnus rummaged around his office, pulling vials off the shelves and consulting a few of his older tomes with a flick of his wrist. In a matter of minutes, he had concocted a small amount of potion. He bottled it in a delicate glass vial and handed it over to the woman.

"An hour before he drinks this, you must add one last ingredient: a tiny sliver of your soul."

The woman looked alarmed. It was the first time she had shown any emotion outside of placidity. "My soul? Why?"

"Well, you are the object of his affection. In order for the elixir to work, it must contain a trace of you," Magnus explained. He cocked his head in silent judgement, yet maintained professionalism as he asked, "You do know how to perform an extraction, don't you?"

The woman stood a little straighter, held her head high. The confidence returned as she reached for the potion. "Of course."

Izzy wasn't sure if she believed her, but it was enough for Magnus. He waved his hand one final time, bringing the potion to a vivid blue, and handed it over to the woman.

"Thank you, Mister Bane," she said with a smile. "You really are a true life saver."

She placed the vial in her bag and exchanged it for whatever payment Magnus required. It was always different - sometimes money, sometimes magical artifacts, sometimes knowledge. Izzy couldn't see whatever this warlock gave Magnus, but he appeared satisfied with it.

Together, they walked to the front door. Unfortunately, that meant walking past the living room, meaning Izzy was busted.

The woman startled at the sight of Izzy, at the sight of all her runes, dark eyes going wide with shock. "Oh, my, I wasn't aware that Mister Bane had guests."

"This is Isabelle, she's a friend," Magnus intervened, ready to smooth over any hard feelings between warlock and Shadowhunter.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to spy or anything - " Izzy tried to apologize, unnerved by the woman's gaze. She didn't even blink.

"No, it's fine, you're fine, I just..." the woman trailed off, looking Izzy up and down like she had stumbled across something fascinating and disturbing. Something of it reminded Izzy of the stranger on the street staring up at her in the middle of the night, a feeling she couldn't quite shake no matter how much time passed. Then, she shook her head and the perfectly pleasant smile returned. "I suppose congratulations are in order. Motherhood is a blessed journey."

Izzy reared back, her defenses rising. Magnus hadn't said anything; she had heard the entire conversation. Even Magnus peered at the woman, suspicious.

"How did you...?"

"I have an affinity for this sort of thing. Not that I'd need it; you're positively glowing," the woman cooed with a wave of her hand.

"Really?" Izzy hadn't noticed a change in her appearance. If anything, she would have thought she looked sickly, more tired after recovering from all the morning sickness.

"Who is the father?" The warlock looked all to eager to find out.

Anger, irrational and quick, rose to the surface. Who did this woman think she was, stepping too close to all of Izzy's secrets? Izzy took a step back, fought to maintain a pleasant face. She didn't want the warlock to think she was being antagonistic. Causing a fight and upsetting the Accords would not bode well for her low profile.

"That's personal."

"Of course, my apologies," she said, eyes gleaming with both sadness and something darker. "I had a son, once. I would do anything to get him back."

"I'm so sorry." This was not the direction that Izzy thought this was going. Between this woman's words and her dark, deep stare, Izzy was starting to feel uncomfortable. "I wasn't aware that warlocks could have children."

"Adopted, but I raised him from the time he was young. He was mine in every way that counted," the woman said, her smile soft. She took Izzy's hand, her skin surprisingly hot to the touch, burning. "Cherish this gift. I have a feeling they'll be something special."

With that, she walked through the foyer and out Magnus' door.

What a strange interaction...

Izzy didn't have any time to unpack that, because a minute later there was another knock at the door. Thankfully, this face was a friendly one.

"Hey!" Clary said, positive and upbeat as ever. She cast her gaze over her shoulder. "Who was that?"

"Some warlock, a client of Magnus'," Izzy replied, giving Clary a hug. "Honestly he has so many, it's hard to keep track."

"Must be good for him to be so busy, after losing the High Warlock position and all. We all like to feel needed."

Izzy rubbed at her slightly-protruding belly, knowing exactly how that felt.

She steered Clary into the living room, making a beeline for the couch. Even though she was barely pregnant, she was already feeling the fatigue. Sitting was a must.

"So, fill me in on everything I've missed," Izzy insisted, curling up on the couch.

Clary sat down on the other end, pulling her legs up in a position that mimicked Izzy. "Are you sure? I mean, you're supposed to be relaxing."

Relaxing was a funny word. As if she could relax without the constant anxiety of an angelic pregnancy and all the demons out to kill her. Low level stress would be her constant companion until the baby was born, and then probably the rest of her life. But Clary didn't mean anything by it. She probably imagined Izzy with her feet up all day, reading books, eating junk food, and watching trash TV...which was pretty accurate.

"Please, I do enough of that for ten people. Magnus has been wonderful, but I feel so...useless just sitting around here all day. I miss being out in the field, with Alec and Jace and you."

"We miss you too."

Izzy smiled, but didn't dwell on how much she was missing for too long. If she travelled down that path, it would spiral into a day's worth of depression, and she had wasted too many days doing that already.

"How's the Weapon's Master position treating you?" she asked, diverting the subject to something safer than her own fear of missing out.

"It's a lot. There's still so much I don't know about Shadowhunters and the culture. I feel like half the time I'm doing research projects on Medieval weapons," Clary joked, but Izzy knew she was being genuine. Clary may have been new to all this, but she rose to any challenge with everything she had in her, which was why Izzy knew she would make a good fit. "Jace has been such an Angel-send, but I'm worried about him. He's been acting...weird."

"Weird how?"

"He's been sleepwalking. Last night I woke up and he was gone - turns out he was half way down the hall with his stele in his hand."

"So strange, he's never done that before."

"I know. I think the idea the Owl still being out there is getting to him." Clary looked away and started picking at a bit of fuzz on Magnus' couch. "After Valentine...we finally thought this was all over. And now, there's these demons, and what happened in the alleyway..."

They were both still haunted by that night, by Clary's prone body in the middle of an alleyway, not knowing if she was going to live or die...

"It's a lot for anyone to handle, even Jace," Izzy said, fighting to remain neutral.

"I just wish he would confide in me."

Clary looked so despondent, so lost. It wasn't like her. Even when she knew absolutely nothing about their world, when she was an inexperienced liability and not an integral member of the team, she had confidence to spare. It was what made Clary, Clary.

Izzy took Clary's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Sometimes, when things get rough and we act out of fear, we make tough decisions, unfair decisions, because we think we have no other choice."

Clary squeezed her hand back just as tight. "You'll always have me in your corner, Iz. You're the closest thing I've ever had to a sister. I love you."

Hormones made Izzy want to bawl her eyes out right then and there.

"Simon misses you too. He keeps asking where you've gone, and I keep lying to him." Clary bit down on her bottom lip, pulling it between her teeth. "He's starting to get suspicious."

"Clary, he can't - "

"I know, I get it. It's just...it's Simon." Izzy knew what Clary meant. There was no one quite like Simon. As much as Izzy had wanted to see him as just another Downworlder in the beginning, capable of nothing but trouble, Simon kept on proving her wrong. He was family...and she was keeping him in the dark. "But he's been acting strange lately too. Ever since his run in with the Seelie Queen and the mark she put on his forehead, he's been out of it."

"Have you tried to get in contact with Raphael?"

"I tried, but no luck. All the vampires in the city have gone quiet. I wonder if it's about the rogue that keeps attacking mundanes."

Izzy had heard something about that before she left, an up and coming problem that was getting steadily out of control. It would have more than likely been her case had she not been put on permanent bed rest, or whatever this equivalent would be.

"Maybe he's not over Valentine either. I mean, he had the ability to wipe out all Downworlders and he almost succeeded. I know you and Simon are new to all this, but it's hard to think that you finally find your place somewhere, then it gets ripped away."

"Yeah. You're right. I should know that better than anyone."

"In the mean time, maybe you should get him to help with the vampire problem," Izzy suggested, trying to kill two birds with one stone. "More than likely, the rogue is just a fledgling scared out of their mind. If anyone could help them find their feet and make this whole thing feel a little less scary, it's Simon. Plus, it'll give him something else to focus on while he sorts himself out."

"I will." Clary smiled, looking at Izzy differently than before, like she was seeing her in a new light. "You're gonna be good at this whole Mom thing, you know."

"You think so?"

Izzy had a hard time thinking she'd be a good parent. Between the role models she had and the life she led, her baby's future looked pretty bleak when it came to having any kind of stability.

But Clary's smile was genuine as she said, "I know so."

..._...

There was no pleasure quite as sweet as crashing an event at which you knew for absolute certain you were not welcome.

Lucifer planned on savoring every scandalized Nephilim, every wide eyed surprise and cutting glare, every nasty thought of 'you shouldn't be here!' Funerals were never Lucifer's cup of tea. People tended to get that wrong about him, assuming he enjoyed spending time with the dearly departed so he could damn them. In reality, Lucifer found funerals rather creepy. He came to the land of lost angels to have fun with the living, not cavort with the dead and decaying.

He sauntered through the LA Institute like a man without a care, avoiding the body covered in a white shroud and the crowd of women and children weeping at the foot of the altar. Such a rare display of emotion, Lucifer pondered, cigarette hanging from one hand and a glass of whiskey stolen from the Head of Institute's office in another. Speaking of Heads of Institutes, the bald head Lucifer was searching for popped into view, bobbing amongst a sea of stoic-faced warriors.

"Rob Bob Shishkabob, so good to see you!"

Perhaps it was crass, rude, disrespectful to shout with glee during a wake. But the look on Rob's face, horror mixed with withering disdain, was worth the indiscretion. Then, the little bugger started to hustle in the opposite direction. That wouldn't do at all.

"Ah ah ah, not so fast," Lucifer plucked him by the collar of his suit jacket and pulled him backwards until they were face to face. Rob looked like he would rather drown himself in the fountain outside. "I kept up my end of the bargain, now it's time to pay yours."

"What are you talking about?" Rob asked, his face furious and bright red. Lucifer wasn't afraid of making a scene in the middle of the Institute, but Rob looked like he was fighting to keep himself from blowing up in front of his peers.

"I brought you the body, now I need some information," Lucifer clarified. Was Rob really so dim as to think that the Devil did things for free? "The Detective is on my case, pardon the pun. She is the whole reason I was allowed to return your fallen Nephilim to you. She thinks I'm here on surveillance, so if I do not give her some juicy scrap of gossip she'll be banging down your door faster than you can say Raziel."

"We are mourning, this is hardly the time - " Rob spluttered, darting his eyes around the room.

"Yes, yes, terribly tragic what happened to the poor chap. The Twilight-sparkle, Rainbow-bright family must be devastated, but they'll find a way to scurry on like good little soldiers. Your kind always do." Lucifer flashed a sharp smile and leaned in closer to Rob so he couldn't scurry away. He was a squirrelly one. "Come on, Rob, it doesn't have to be real. In fact, false information may suit us all better, just don't tell me. Can't lie, I'm afraid. Honesty is the best policy."

Rob gave Lucifer a glare so fierce that it would have intimidated a weaker man. "Tell your Detective that over the next few weeks we will be securing our armories and moving the necessary supplies across the city in preparation for possible retaliation."

"Wonderful." Lucifer's face broke out into a satisfied grin.

Whatever Rob was going to say next, whatever curse or warning, was swallowed by the sound of tiny footsteps running their way. Lucifer stepped aside just in time to narrowly avoid a collision with a small child with wild brown curls. He was wearing all black like his fellow Nephilim, but bore no marks. Young, then, Lucifer thought. Too young to be at a funeral and know exactly what was going on.

"What's wrong?" Rob asked, forgetting all about Lucifer and going straight into overprotective mode. Dad mode, Lucifer realized, recognizing the child from the photos in Rob's office. This was Isabelle's younger brother.

"Esther and Jack are getting into a fight. They drew steles, even thought it's against the rules."

Ah, so the gremlin was a tattle tale. There was a special place in Hell for those. Lucifer hoped the unfortunate creature grew out of it, for its sake.

"I'll handle it," Rob assured.

Lucifer was unable to stifle a snort. The thought of Rob 'handling' anything was laughable. Based on that pot belly and fresh manicure, it had been many a year since Rob had seen any action. What was he going to do, throw paperwork at them?

"Who's your friend?" the child asked, staring up at Lucifer through coke-bottle glasses.

Friend was a dirty word. As if Lucifer could actually befriend a creature as annoying and self-righteous as a Nephilim. He already had to deal with that unfailing narcissism from his boundless siblings. That was a lot to unload on a child, so he refrained from correcting the creature.

"Lucifer Morningstar."

Props to the kid, he didn't even flinch, didn't so much as blink in terror. Maybe Lucifer was losing his touch. Maybe he should do the thing with his eyes, like when he took care of Trixie's bully. He didn't want to think about the alternative: that this kid had already seen much worse than the King of Hell.

The kick stuck out his small, grubby hand. "I'm Max."

Lucifer shook the young boy's hand, a shiver of revulsion climbing up his spine. What did it say about him that children still gave him the creeps?

He placed his glass of whiskey on the nearest surface - which just so happened to be Rob's spare hand - and adjusted his suit jacket. "Yes, well, this is my cue to leave."

"Lucifer, answer me this," Rob said before Lucifer could escape, just as angry as before but now tickled with genuine fear. "These demons. Can you stop them?"

With his son beside him, Rob was startlingly more human. Lucifer even started to feel things for him, things scarily akin to pity. He couldn't lie to Rob. Honesty, though always the best policy, was often cruel.

"I'll be in touch."

Outside, he flicked his cigarette to the concrete and ground it under his heel. That was what he was going to do to whoever was ruining his good time.