A/N: I know I said no more Shadowhunters show scenes, but I absolutely 100% needed content from 3x17. So if some of the convos sound familiar, especially the Simon bits, it's because I'm combining 3x9 and 3x17 over these next couple chapters with some spins of my own. I hope you all enjoy! We are back loves! XOXOX
Devil in the Details
"This is a terrible plan," Simon muttered to seemingly no one in particular.
He didn't like standing in the middle of a circle of light that was keeping him hostage inside Alicante's most secure prison. He didn't like the handcuffs chafing his wrists or the dirty looks the guards kept throwing his way. He didn't like being the bait in a rather elaborate plan to break out two of his closest friends from said prison.
But hey, what were friends for?
Walk me through it one more time, Alec instructed, his voice an intruding echo in Simon's thoughts.
It was his idea that they stay connected, just in case. Telepathically, even, thanks to his new jewelry. The Seelie ring which one belonged to Valentine (stolen a bit illegally from Alec on his way out the Institute) was an uncomfortable weight on Simon's finger, yet the glamour upon it rendered the metal as skin. Still, despite the constant connection, Simon remained on edge. There was only so much a single, disgraced Shadowhunter of no particular standing could do from half way across the world.
Simon tried not to think about that too much. Alec had let him know the risks, and he still signed up. Because this was Clary and Izzy. They needed him, and they'd never leave him behind. He owed them that much.
Instead, Simon tried to focus on the room. On the harsh lights coming from the ceiling overhead or the poured concrete of the prison floors. On the security-locked doors and the lack of windows. This was some kind of holding area. What awaited Simon next was no doubt more security, more vault-thick doors and retinal scans.
This place really was like Alcatraz.
"My name is Zeke Russo." Simon had recited the file a thousand times, and still he got stuck on the details. "Arrested by the Clave for - "
"Zeke Russo!" a female voice echoed, hard as steel.
Simon immediately straightened as a petite blonde woman came into view, her body all sharp angles mixed with soft cheeks and a baby face.
"That's me," Simon muttered aloud, not at all like the hardened criminal he was supposed to be.
The woman narrowed her eyes.
"It's in your best interest to follow my orders in here," she said, casting a glance around the circle of light. She walked over to the edge of his prison. "Watch your ass in there. The UV lights'll fry you."
Simon took a step back. Then, the lights were gone. She jerked her head, instructing him to follow. The guards at the wall tightened formation.
Show time.
Breathe, Simon. You can do this, Alec encouraged, his voice tired yet full of conviction. I'll be monitoring you with my runes as well. Everything will turn out okay.
It had to.
Simon did his best to survey the halls he was led down, take peeks at the cells he passed and just how secure they were. The answer: very secure. The further he went into the bowels of this terrible place, the less light there was - including the artificial killer kind. The further any hope of getting out slipped away.
Finally, the guard stopped outside a beige door. It was nothing special, nothing different than any other door. Just a door.
When it opened, Simon was led into a room filled with a dozen odd other prisoners. No one appeared too threatening. Two women played checkers in the corner table. Someone else mindless watched TV. Most people paced around the perimeter. All in all, it looked like convict day care.
"Simon?"
That voice. No. It couldn't be.
"Raphael?"
But there he was, rising from his seat by the window. Raphael Santiago in the flesh. Simon's sire. His friend.
Simon could have wept with joy. Guards forgotten, he ran over to Raphael and blew past over a year's worth of boundaries as he wrapped his sire up in a hug. It was just so nice to have a semi-friendly face to lean on. Not that he could lean on Raphael. Simon didn't even know why Raphael was here. Hell, he didn't even know that Raphael was missing.
When they pulled away, Raphael was grinning.
"What could Simon Lewis possibly have done to end up in here?"
"I need you to call me Zeke."
The guards were still pacing near the door, taking stock of all the prisoners inside. They may have lost interest in him, specifically, but there was no telling in a place like this.
"Zeke?"
"Yes," Simon insisted, casting a glance around the room to make sure no one was listening in. "I killed an old lady in Queens."
"You what?"
"Zeke did. It's a cover story."
"So you chose to come here?" Raphael asked, his eyebrows doing all the talking as they climbed higher and higher up his forehead. Disbelief was painted plain across his face.
"Yeah." Simon cast another glance and lowered his voice even more. "I'm looking for Clary and Izzy. They were taken here against their will, and I'm supposed to be busting them out. Any idea where they would keep them?"
"Guards don't typically share information with their inmates."
"Come on, you haven't seen them around the cell block or in the cafeteria or something?"
Suddenly there was a commotion at the door. Everyone stood up and started looking nervous. Simon looked at Raphael, confused when the guards entered again, blocking anyone from escape. The blonde guard who had escorted him was not part of this group. Maybe she just did transfers.
"What's happening?"
"Get away from the door," Raphael insisted, pushing Simon towards the back of the room. "Go!"
"Freitag. Elle Freitag," a guard called.
All eyes flickered to a young woman sitting in the corner. She dropped her checkers and her face grew ashen. She panicked. She tried to back away from the guards heading her way, skittering out of her chair and putting it between herself and them.
It didn't work.
"No! No!" she shrieked as she was grabbed by the arms and taken out of the room by force.
Everyone else looked on in muted horror. A few let out long sighs. A few even cast their eyes skyward, as if giving thanks that they were spared. This time.
"Where are they taking her?" Simon asked, a hushed whisper amongst the chaos.
"I don't know. It happens every few hours. Wherever they're going, they never come back."
Simon? Simon, are you there? Alec's voice pierced through Simon's brain like a wrecking ball, sending him crashing back into reality.
"Yeah. No luck on the Izzy and Clary front yet, but I found Raphael," he stammered aloud, needing the sound of his own voice to order his thoughts. So much had happened in the past half an hour. So much...
Raphael?
"He's okay, but something strange is going on here. They're taking prisoners one by one and they never come back."
Saying it out loud added a whole new layer of danger to this 'easy' mission. There was nothing Simon wanted more than to find his girls and get out of this place. ASAP.
Raphael kept giving Simon confused looks, like he had gone crazy. There was no way for Raphael to see the ring, and some things were too risky to admit. His sire would just have to live with being kept in the dark.
"You have our location?"
No. Their wards have been reinforced. My Tracking rune doesn't work. Alec sounded pissed and stressed and a dozen other unpleasant things. Any clue to where you are?
"Uh, some kind of holding room. A couple windows looking out to the yard."
The Gard really wasn't the prettiest place. It was like it prided itself on being dismal and ugly.
That's helpful, Alec groused. Simon could imagine the furrow through his brow and how Alec would likely be leaned over some desk pinching the bridge of his nose, making the furrow worse. The thought was almost comforting. Look, I'll try my best to find out who authorized Raphael's transfer. Hopefully it can lead us in Aldertree's direction. Just one more thing we can pin on the guy before we take him down.
"Okay. Whatever you do, do it quick."
"Hey, Zeke," Raphael called, Simon's fake name twisted on his lips like a lemon. "You might want to look at this."
Simon walked over to the window and peered over Raphael's shoulder.
There, in the center of the yard, amongst the sea of faded blue uniforms, was a mop of wild red hair tilted towards the sky.
Clary.
Clary was sick and tired of prison.
Everyone here was cruel and petty, or they were the subject of the cruel and the petty's torment. There was no in between. Clary hated having to sleep with one eye open, hated having to watch her back while she scarfed food down in the mess, hated that she couldn't even enjoy some fresh air without wondering which dirty look would end up in a fight.
She had fought once. On her first night. And she had lost. Aldertree was not an opponent she thought she would have to face so soon, but she was eager for a rematch. A rematch on much more even ground.
His obsession with Izzy was upsetting and terrifying. The look in his eye when he believed he was justified in her torture...bone-chilling. No common thief or wayward werewolf could hold a candle to that kind of sociopathy. It was going to be a lot harder than she thought to rip Izzy from his clutches.
As thoughts of vengeance swirled, someone approached.
"Red? Red, is that you?" came a familiar, mousy voice. It sent shivers down Clary's spine. Shivers and bad memories that solidified into a woman who bound up to her. "I knew I recognized the stench of smug Shadowhunter."
"Iris."
Logically, Clary knew that Iris had wound up in prison, the Gard the most likely of prisons due to the severity of her crime. Theft against the High Warlock of Brooklyn was a rather high-profile case, and the item in question - an ancient tome of powerful spells - would have spelled disaster in Iris's hands. Especially if those hands had been manipulated by Valentine. Still, it was jarring to see her there, blunt red bangs, over-wide smile and all.
Iris laughed at the way Clary tensed, at the way her hand instinctively reached to her hip where her stele would be had it not been taken from her upon incarceration. Clary had no weapons, no stele to rely on. She was defenseless in the face of Iris Rouse.
"Relax. I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to. Not that I would. I heard what you did, stopping Valentine's wish. You don't deserve this."
That...that was unexpected.
"Thanks," Clary muttered, not sure she fully believed the warlock who lured her with false promises of bringing her mother back to life, only to drug her, trap her in a room with a demon, and force her to mate with it in the hopes of creating a part-Shadowhunter, part-demon warlock master race. Despite all that, something Iris said didn't sit right. "Wait, what do you mean 'even if you wanted to'?"
Iris sighed and rolled her eyes.
"See these warlocks out here? They've all got fancy cuffs that suppress their abilities. But not me." She raised her cuff-less wrists in a dramatic fashion. "I'm not a warlock anymore."
Clary's eyes bugged. She didn't want to believe Iris, but the cuffs were on the others. The guards - who had to know of Iris's past - were not concerned that she was walking around untethered. All evidence pointed to one unbelievable outcome.
"H-how is that even possible?"
There was screaming from somewhere inside the Gard. Tortured, prolonged screaming that could only have come from something truly terrible. Clary shivered even though it wasn't cold.
"This is barbaric," Iris muttered, kicking at the hard, packed dirt. "Even the barbarians weren't this cruel. After everything I've done, this is how it ends...sentenced to die for not doing magic."
"What are you talking about?"
"The Consul moved up my execution because I refused to perform a spell for her."
"The Clave hires warlocks all the time. Why ask you?"
"Because necromancy is - or, I guess was - my specialty. But even I know no good would come from resurrecting Valentine Morganstern."
That name. It sent Clary's whole world to a stand-still. Memories from that night by the lake, nightmares of Valentine summoning the Angel, of killing Jace. It all came flooding back, made her weak in the knees. She felt like she could puke.
"Jia asked you to resurrect Valentine?" None of this made sense. Clary's head was spinning. "Why?"
"She wanted to question him about a demon."
There was only one demon it could be. Only one demon could possibly make the Counsul scared enough to consider resurrecting her father, the murderous psychopath. The same demon that was creating wraiths and Owls and killing Shadowhunters left and right.
"Lilith."
So, they knew. That answered that question. The Clave was always keeping secrets, always brushing warnings aside until it was too late. Clary felt anger and frustration well up inside her. If only they had taken the signs more seriously before things got out of hand! Then maybe...maybe Ithuriel wouldn't have died and maybe Jace wouldn't be -
"She tried to dig him up, but I said, 'I don't care if Lilith is the devil incarnate! Anyone is better than that Circle bastard'!" Iris shouted, not caring who overheard. Another kick at the dirt, this one a little harder, a little meaner. "He took my Madzie away from me. Let him rot."
For once, Clary and Iris agreed.
Valentine would stay dead. Let him rot right next to Victor Aldertree.
"Are you sure this is going to work?" Magnus asked for the fifth and final time.
"Pretty sure, yeah." Lucifer fiddled with his cufflinks, cracked his neck. "Maybe eighty-five percent?"
"Lucifer!"
"Calm down!" Lucifer hissed, trying to keep Magnus from blasting him into another dimension. "We only spoke of this in theory. It's been ages since I let the ring out for a spin. No telling if the hag will even respond to a tug on the old ball and chain."
The ring on his finger shone black as ever, mocking him with all its potential. Either this plan was going to go very well, or tits up very quickly. Lucifer was hoping to have Jace Herondale in hand by the end of the hour. Knowing his luck and Dad's cosmic sense of bad humor, Lucifer wasn't sure those hopes would come true.
Still, it was worth a shot. Anything to stop the Mother of Demons from destroying the world and his chances of remaining employed at the LAPD.
Nerves got a hold of him as he wiggled the ring down his finger. It really had been a long time since he'd even thought of calling Lilith this way. Current bad behavior aside, she had been a model citizen of Hell. No doubt she would find reason to destroy him for the insult of such an abrupt summoning. Perhaps level the entire building or flatten his favorite car.
Thankfully, if all went to plan, all they'd get was the little bird boy. And hopefully none of his pesky wraith friends. Those were always a nuisance. Never liked to follow directions, and never picked up after themselves.
"Now or never," Magnus said, staring at the ring in Lucifer's hand.
Now or never indeed.
Lucifer closed his eyes and concentrated on the soul that lay underneath the stone. He could feel it - a niggling in the back of his brain, a squirming thing that beat like a living pulse. He latched onto it, let it wrap around his finger and pull. Not much. Not hard. Just enough that it could be felt. Just enough that it could release some of that writhing tension. And then he let go.
Nothing changed. Not the mood in the room nor the heat in the air. No beacon of light or giant sign that advertised "Lilith is here!" Just Lucifer's penthouse, same as always.
Magnus looked around, no doubt expecting fireworks like his own displays of magic.
"That's it?"
Once more, Magnus remained unimpressed and unconvinced.
"That's it," Lucifer sighed, reaching for his whiskey. "Now all we have to do is wait for - "
Glass shattered, the windows to the balcony blowing inward. The Owl manifested himself in a cloud of black smoke, oily and slick and scented with hellfire. When the smoke cleared, all that was left was the creature. The creature with bloodied hands drip, drip, dripping onto Lucifer's floors.
Whiskey lay forgotten on the table.
"My, my. Someone's been busy," Lucifer chided, flashing a grin. No doubt the Detective would find more dead Nephilim in some forgotten alleyway. A problem for the morning. Once Lucifer stopped this bastard, once and for all.
He really did think this would take a while. Perhaps things would go more smoothly than he -
The Owl ran for the balcony.
"Oh no you don't!"
Lucifer cut him off, wings spread and ready to fight. He pushed a powerful gust of wind the Owl's way, knocking him off course and colliding him into the piano. Lucifer winced at the scratches on his baby grand, but everyone had to make sacrifices tonight.
Immediately, the Owl went on the offensive.
"Jace, please! Let us help you!" Magnus pleaded and dodged a punch. Always taking the diplomatic route when his opponents wanted to rip his throat out.
A kick to the solar plexus had Magnus spluttering, stumbling to the ground to catch his breath, leaving Lucifer to counter by grabbing the Owl's ankle and taking him down too. Lucifer didn't waste any more time. There would be no pleading. He put his whole body weight on the Nephilim, making sure to pin thrashing arms underneath his knees.
"Hold him down!" Magnus shouted, scrambling over to hold Jace's legs.
So much harder said than done when the fucker as as slippery as an eel and three times as angry.
"I'm holding him - !"
The bastard broke free, rolling across the broken glass only to spring up in a fighting position. Remarkable, really, this creature's tolerance for pain. His mask was gone, face featherless and scratched, blood trickling from his temple and his nose.
Lucifer, himself, had a bloody nose. He licked his lip to clean the mess, copper bitter against his tongue.
"Clever, Morningstar. But not clever enough. You will never win," Jace taunted, pacing in time with Lucifer's steps. They were circling each other. Watching. Waiting.
"Oh, is that so?"
"You will never be able to stop me...and save her."
Tension spun like a spider's silk thread. Lucifer wasn't sure who was the spider, and who was the fly. All he knew was that this creature had the audacity to threaten Isabelle, threaten his child.
"What have you done to Miss Lightwood?"
He knew, deep down, that he was being baited. He knew that Isabelle was locked deep within the bowels of The Gard, that there was no possible way Lilith could have gotten her hands on her. He knew this, and yet, his breath still caught. Adrenaline still spiked his heart rate. And a fire - a very familiar hellish fire - licked its way through his veins. It heated his skin, lit up his cheeks, laser focused through his eyes.
"My Mistress was so happy when I told her the good news," Jace crowed, crouched low like a tiger on the prowl. "The girl is expecting. A princess fit for her son."
"I will never let you touch her."
Jace Herondale laughed a shriveling laugh. Followed by a cough and a spat of blood, his bottom lip saturated sanguine.
"But we needed her out of the way, you see. We needed her safe. Waiting. My Mistress needed to handle you first." Blood-stained teeth bared themselves in a cruel smile. "The scientist was so happy when we told him as well. All his years of waiting for a cure for demon-kind, and it simply fell into his lap."
Magnus hissed.
A terrible ringing grew in Lucifer's ears.
This creature...this overgrown mockingbird was telling him that he was the reason his own sister was imprisoned against her will? Tormented in a hell beyond Lucifer's reach?
Oh, Lilith was sick. Lilith was cruel. Lilith was going to pay.
He rushed forward with superhuman speed and took Jace by the collar, thrusting him against the wall. He didn't care what he cracked or broke or shattered. He didn't care what artwork got blood on it. Things were all replaceable. Miss Lightwood was not.
"What have you done to her?" Lucifer roared. "TELL ME!"
More laughter, more coughing and blood. The creature in Lucifer's arms laughed so hard that his whole body shook. The more he laughed, the angrier Lucifer grew. Anger that grew and grew and grew until it was too big for Lucifer's body. This raging, tangled monster trapped inside flesh and bone. It felt like a volcano beneath Lucifer's skin, a volcano ready to erupt, red hot and furious.
He had to let it out.
Fingers turned into claws, razor sharp and seeking. A growl ripped its way from Lucifer's throat and the Owl ceased his laughter. Caught a shocked breath at the pain of them sinking into his clavicle, the meat of his shoulder, tightening like a vise. Already, the creature grew smaller, more pathetic in Lucifer's hold.
Air blew from Lucifer's nostrils hot as smoke. The taste of ash flooded his mouth. He saw the reflection of his red, hellish eyes in the fearful, obsidian pools of his prey.
The Devil was back.
The Devil was angry.