Title: Eternally Bound

Summary: Under construction - The summary is going through a quick revamping, should be prepared by the next chapter. Don't be alarmed if it's not the same as you remember it. I wasn't crazy about it.

Note: Hello! I'm terribly sorry for the delay - School got in the way. From now on, I think updates are going to be once a week. I'm continuously planning and writing, but my schoolwork is a priority and midterms are stretched over the next two weeks. I'm in a lot of time-consuming classes, but I will try to get chapters out as often as possible. To make it up to you, this chapter is longer than the others :)

Thank you to all my reviewers, especially the anonymous ones I couldn't thank privately! I'm absolutely shocked by the response this fic has gotten. Thank you so much!

Disclaimer: I do not own MI. Cassandra Clare does.

Chapter Three

Alexander was beginning to forget what food tasted like.

He had never had gourmet quality food, but he was never outright neglected as far as meals went. He had been sent to his room without dinner few times in his life, and even then usually received something to snack on. Valentine was under the belief that a healthy body was crucial to an obedient servant and a good slap or two would be a more effective punishment than starvation. And Jonathan preferred it when he was fully fed and not trying to blink away the spinning room.

Even as a child, before he could cook himself, he had always been provided with something to eat. Alexander didn't actually remember the servant well. They had been gone – mysteriously disappeared – by the time he was eight and could make basic meals. As time went on and Jonathan got more demanding, Alexander had turned his reading practice from the assigned books to cook books. It was a good thing Valentine stopped paying attention to his education when he was twelve, because Alexander was certain he'd be punished for going against his demands.

Alexander liked the kitchen. He didn't even mind cleaning it. Jonathan hadn't stepped foot in the room since he was ten and declared that cooking and baking was woman's work. Alexander didn't even know how he supposed this, since neither had actually met a woman, but he guessed it was in one of the books he read.

Either way, Jonathan never seemed to complain when Alexander cooked. When Alexander made dinner or, in a moment of boredom and rare free time, a cake or batch of cookies, it was almost like when he was younger. He had a fierce sweet tooth and was always under the feet of the blurry memory of a caretaker. He and Jonathan, not yet trained to hate one another, had flour fights and snuck cookie dough from the bowl.

Alexander couldn't help but miss those days.

Then, as he got older and his stomach was always empty, food became more of a necessity than a pleasure. Alexander could barely recall a moment when he wasn't in the kitchen once he and Jonathan were in their early teens. Valentine had been dismayed, if not a little amused, to see how empty the cabinets were when he came to visit. Ever since, he had arranged for more food to be brought for them.

There were a lot of things Alexander didn't know about his life, he realized. For example, where the food came from. All he knew was that every Tuesday morning, the house would be stocked again. He knew it had to come from somewhere. He just hadn't a clue where.

And now, his family. He didn't know that he had a family. Or rather, that the family was alive. It seemed like a dream come true, a fantasy almost too surreal to believe. His mother and father were here, waiting to see him. He had a brother. He had a sister. Hell, Tobias had said two of each! Alexander shifted the food around his plate, chanting the names in his head. Isabelle, Clary, Jace, and Max. Four siblings.

Tobias had stayed with him all night, just talking. Alexander didn't understand how a person was capable of talking that much, but Tobias achieved it. His presence itself had been another miracle. He'd never had a friend, not in the way a friend was supposed to be. Jonathan had once called himself a friend, but… Alexander shuddered. He didn't want to go down that train of thought.

The doors creaked familiarly and Alexander's head snapped up in alarm as a black clad figure entered the dim cell. His knuckles turned white around his fork and he sucked in a nervous breath.

A quiet laugh eased his panic. "Didn't mean to startle you," Tobias said and, with his hands in what even Alexander recognized as surrender, approached the bed. He sat down without invitation, something that he had foregone around dinner the night before. "How are you feeling?"

Alexander speared a piece of pasta on his plate. "All right, sir. Thank you for asking."

He sensed Tobias's lips press together, but didn't look. He knew that Tobias wasn't fond of his formal address, but it was a habit too hard to break. Plus, Tobias didn't seem like he was going to punish him for it any time soon.

"How are the runes?"

Alexander dropped the fork without taking the bite and rubbed his wrists as if he could wipe away the tattoos. "Still binding, sir," he said softly.

Tobias sighed. "Right. Didn't think they'd fade, but… well, I was hoping." He glanced sideways at the meal on Alexander's tray. "You enjoying that?"

Alexander shrugged. If he were to be honest, he hadn't eaten anything. His stomach turned every time he brought a morsel near his mouth. In fact, he couldn't remember what he'd eaten last. Perhaps a few bites of chicken that night? Surely he dragged himself out of Jonathan's room long enough to grab a roll or two during that impossibly long day and night of waiting. But he wasn't certain and the only taste he could clearly describe at the moment was vomit.

Tobias sighed again. He seemed to do that a lot in Alexander's presence. "Can I ask you something?" he said after a long pause.

Alexander frowned. Tobias usually didn't wait to ask. He just accepted it when Alexander didn't answer. "Yes, sir."

Tobias's shoulders slumped, as if he were about to ask the hardest question in the world. Alexander panicked internally. What if he wanted to know more about Valentine? What if he wanted to incriminate him? What if he was going to try to force him to disobey orders?

"Are you going to eat that roll? I've been working since you fell asleep last night. I'm starved."

Alexander felt like he'd been smacked out of his thoughts as he stared at Tobias dumbly. The roll on his tray was stale and untouched. "Uh, y-yes, sir. I-I mean no, sir. I'm not. You can have it."

Tobias raised his eyebrows and Alexander realized that he had purple bags under his eyes. "Are you lying?"

Alexander picked up the roll and held it out to the blonde. "Liars ought to be punished," he said simply. "I can't eat anything, sir, so it's useless for me to keep this all to myself."

"All," Tobias snorted and took the roll. He tore it in half and dropped the larger piece back on the tray. "That's barely anything, Alexander. You got half a bowl of pasta, some bread, and a block of cheese." He bit into his bread and chewed silently for a moment. "Liars ought to be punished…" he echoed thoughtfully once he swallowed. "Where did you learn that?"

Alexander took a rattling breath and turned his attention back to the meal.

"Ah," Tobias said. "Valentine. Hm. You know, I never thought a man like him would go for morals like that. 'Course, my uncle was the same way with lying and stuff and he wasn't exactly a deity."

Alexander looked at Tobias curiously. If there was anything he had learned from simply listening to the boy, it was that the way he had lived his life was not normal. Alexander had always assumed so, but he wasn't sure whether to be reassured or upset that he was right. On one hand, it meant that he didn't deserve this, just as Tobias had been preaching for hours. On the other, it meant that he was even more of a freak to a society he had never encountered.

"Sir, please pardon me for asking, but…" Alexander looked at Tobias closely, searching for things he knew too well on his own body. "But, sir, was your uncle…" He wasn't sure how to word it and trailed off. He traced a scar on his cheek from when Valentine taught him not to play with knives.

Tobias seemed to understand. "No," he said quickly. "No, definitely not. Not to me, at least. Maybe my cousins, but they never said or showed signs, so… I don't know. But I don't think so. He did drink often, though. An alcoholic. I don't even remember him being sober, and he said some nasty stuff about people. He talked about violence, sometimes, but…" Tobias shrugged. "He could barely aim the glass to his mouth."

Alexander felt dumb for asking and a red heat rose to his cheeks. "What's an… alcoholic, sir?"

Tobias looked amused for such a somber question. "Someone addicted to alcohol," he answered simply. "From the looks of the liquor cabinet in your house, Valentine was one, too. Damn, a drunken man leading an army to kill us all…" He laughed emptily. "I'm not sure if that's scary or hilarious to imagine."

Alexander didn't feel that tug at the edge of his lips that urged him to smile. "I wasn't aware that he drank so much," he said quietly, wondering vaguely if he was crossing the runes' boundaries. "That was more –" He cut himself off before he could continue. He shouldn't have started in the first place. Mentioning Jonathan's mere existence was definitely against the rules. Valentine had never specified, of course, but Alexander inferred that Jonathan was meant to stay a secret.

"That was more who?" Tobias pressed, leaning forward with wide, expectant eyes.

Alexander's breath caught in his throat. "Me," he lied. "Not… not often, sir, just… it helped." He swallowed back bile as he thought of the last time he drank.

Tobias nodded and leaned back. "Perhaps not all liars should face consequences," he murmured. His eyes were locked on Alexander's runes. "We're going to do our best to get rid of those. I promise. The Silent Brothers will work on it. They said they would. And then you can tell as much – or as little – as you want."

Alexander clenched his jaw and felt his head throb. He didn't like the Silent Brothers one bit. They had visited briefly to poke and prod just like all the others, but he hadn't had a clue what was going on. Tobias later relayed the events to him, but it still made Alexander uncomfortable. Apparently, they had been ordered to keep out of his mind at all costs. Even unintentionally disobeying might bring the torture.

"You need to eat," Tobias said suddenly and took the fork from Alexander's grasp. He filled it with a mouthful worth of pasta and offered it out. "Take it and eat it, or I'll make airplane sounds and feed you myself. I can see your skeleton."

Alexander took the fork, but didn't place it near his mouth. "What are airplane noises, sir?"

Tobias reddened. "Oh, sorry. I have a niece, she's really little, and we always have to do that little game where you make train noises and airplane noises to make her eat."

This didn't clear up anything in Alexander's mind. "Sir, I don't know what those are. Trains and airplanes, I mean."

Tobias looked stricken. "Right. Um. Forms of transportation. An airplane… flies… in the air. Self explanatory, that part. And trains, they're these… they're like… they're on railroads and they're a lot faster than cars most of the time."

Alexander took a breath, but said nothing and waited for Tobias to catch on that he was still clueless.

It took almost a full minute. "You don't know what a car is, do you?"

"No, sir."

"I'll show you a picture later," Tobias said and laughed. "Does that work?"

Alexander nodded, still lost but appreciative of his efforts. "I'm not really hungry, sir." He set his fork down hesitantly. He wasn't sure if he trusted Tobias not to snatch it up and force feed him as promised. "I don't feel well."

Tobias narrowed his eyes. "I haven't seen you swallow even three bites of food since you got here. Is this one of Valentine's orders? Because if it is, I swear, that man is one of the sickest human beings to walk this earth."

Alexander shook his head rapidly. "Not an order, no sir, I just – I don't think I'll be able to hold it down, sir." He thought back to when Tobias had herded him into the parlor and he had lost his stomach in the garbage. "You remember, sir."

Tobias took what seemed to be the billionth deep breath since Alexander had met him. "There must be a reason for that," he said firmly. "I just… I wish I knew what it was. Alexander, if you know –"

"I –" Alexander began, but the creaking of the door cut him off.

"Carstairs, I thought you were assigned to guard duty," a sharp voice chided.

Alexander watched Tobias slide off the bed and take a stiff, tall stance. It was a complete transformation and didn't even take seconds. "I am, boss," he said and saluted the gray haired woman at the door.

Alexander didn't like the Inquisitor any more than he had when they first met. She had only been in the cell a few times and never for more than five minutes, but she had a coldness that Alexander couldn't understand. It wasn't cold like Jonathan or Valentine. It was more drastic, as if she had once been happy and now her mission was to make sure no one was. Even Tobias didn't seem fond, and he'd been friendly to nearly everyone as long as they didn't crowd the cell or threaten Alexander harm.

"This doesn't seem like guard duty," the Inquisitor reprimanded. "This looks like socializing."

Tobias glanced down at Alexander, who had frozen at the sight of the woman. "We were – talking," he faltered. "About… the runes. And why he feels so ill. I just – it's not a bad thing to help him."

"I'll take over from here," the Inquisitor announced. Her face was drawn tightly and sternly. "That was not your job, Carstairs."

"I know, ma'am, I –"

She raised her eyebrows and Tobias fell silent. Alexander met his eye quickly but then averted his gaze. This didn't feel like it was going to end well for either of them.

"I'll step aside, boss." Tobias nodded and retreated to the opposite side of the cell. Alexander watched him go, the comfort of his friend rapidly slipping away.

The Inquisitor walked closer and her shoes clacked with every step. Alexander stared at them, wondering how she could walk when there were sticks in her heels. Did they poke through the shoe? Did it hurt? He bit down on his tongue quickly to stop himself from asking. Only Tobias tolerated those sorts of inane things.

"Look at me, boy," she ordered and Alexander snapped his neck up. He swallowed thickly in anticipation. "Look me in the eye." Suddenly, a long nailed, firm hand was cupped under his chin and jerked his head so he had to meet her cold, uncaring gaze. His entire body flinched and flailed, but he brought it under control as quickly as he could. She didn't relent.

"Inquisitor, you're scaring him," Tobias said and Alexander saw him step forward out of the corner of his eye.

The Inquisitor put a hand up without a word and Tobias stepped back meekly. "Sorry, boss, just… don't hurt him. 'Cause –"

"He's been through hell and back, I know," the Inquisitor intoned. "Carstairs, I really don't know who trained you, nor do I suggest you tell me. They ought to have instilled better respect for superior positions."

Alexander felt himself leaning away, unable to help it. The Inquisitor held him there with an incredibly strong grip. "Stop moving, boy, you'll maim yourself further."

"Yes, ma'am," Alexander whispered and tried to keep as still as possible.

She searched his eyes like a hawk for ten seconds before releasing him. Alexander pushed himself away from the edge of the bed as quickly as possibly and pressed his back against the wall. He felt as if she'd been trying to read his mind.

"Recant your loyalty for Valentine." Her words rang in the silence, but Alexander felt the weight on his shoulders grow. "Tell me that you never cared for him, never will care for him. Say you never wished to work for him and will never take an order from him again." Alexander stared at her in horror. "Recant or you'll stay here forever, Alexander. It's simple as that."

Alexander dug his fingernails into his wrists, agitating the bruises. "I – I can't, ma'am," he stammered. "It… I'm not… I want…" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter what I want to do, ma'am. I simply haven't got a choice." His wrist began to bleed, red against the canvas of black, yellow, purple, and white. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

"What do you mean you can't?" she demanded, her eyes fiery. "So you are a follower, are you saying? You are a solider?"

Alexander couldn't look at her any longer. "I'm a slave," he corrected. "No matter how much I want to, I can't change that, ma'am. The runes bind me. I… I can tell you I've never cared, I never will after what he's done. I wish I hadn't been forced to live my life like this, serving and working for him. But… I have to obey his demands. It's not a choice."

The Inquisitor's glare traveled and she landed her gaze on his skin chains. "How did you receive the runes? I want the entire story."

Alexander's thoughts went frantic. Could he tell? Technically, the runes were no secret and that night had been anything but a habit. Valentine came around so rarely once the boys were older that Alexander wasn't sure if any of his visits could be considered so.

He opened his mouth twice to start, but couldn't. The fear was tingling at the back of his head and electric-like jolts tickled his palms as if to warn him. "He summoned me," Alexander managed on the third try. He waited. Nothing. "He… called me. With… with a bell. He and – he carried it around. It was… always loud. I heard it in my room, I was… I was trying to sleep. He… I didn't go, at first, because I was going to pretend I was already asleep." A shameful blush rushed to his face. "He didn't like that, he knew I lied when I said I'd been sleeping."

The Inquisitor looked mildly curious. "So they were punishment?"

Alexander shook his head rapidly. "No, no. He – he gave me a warning. Liars ought to be punished. He… he said that a lot when I was younger. I… I used to fib about everything." The idea that she might assume this was a lie struck him. Alexander hurriedly added, "He… he taught me that was wrong. So, I don't anymore, ma'am. I promise."

The Inquisitor looked doubtful, but waved a hand. "Continue."

"He told me… he said it was my birthday. My eighteenth. And… he wanted to see me because of it. To see what kind of person I had grown into." Alexander gnawed at his lip for a moment. "He gave me a… a present, he called it. He… he offered to answer any three questions I had."

The Inquisitor leaned forward with true interest now. "What did you ask?"

Alexander hung his head. "Only about my parents, ma'am. I… he never told me about them. I only… I only knew their names. I didn't ask my other two questions. He told me I could save them for another time. But… it's too late now."

"What did he tell you?"

Alexander shut his eyes and tried to recall his master's words. "Mayrse and Robert Lightwood," he murmured. "He said… he told me that Father was cruel to other Nephilim, but kind to Downworlders. And that Mother never loved anyone, especially not me."

The Inquisitor snorted and Alexander's eyes flew open. He almost didn't believe that the undignified sound had come from her.

"Robert? Cruel?" She made a sound somewhere between amused and disgusted. "Mayrse without any love? I never thought I'd be one to defend your family, Alexander, but I'm not entirely sure he was talking about them. It sounds more like his own household. Jocelyn never seemed to care much for her eldest…" Her voice trailed off before she jolted back into seriousness. "Your parents are currently in the Gard, anxiously waiting to meet their long lost son, who, of course, is not allowed visitors until we are certain he is not a spy." She raised her eyebrows in an accusatory manner and Alexander felt his insides recoil. "Continue."

It took several beats for Alexander to compose himself. "He… he had another gift, then. He said… He told me that I was Nephilim, even though I wasn't trained." He gazed mournfully at the tattoos. "I suppose, I am, ma'am, aren't I?" The Inquisitor remained silent, so he rushed on. "He said that even the most… incompetent Shadowhunters deserved runes." He was recalling Valentine's tone, not necessarily his words. Alexander wasn't sure if he'd actually said that but he certainly implied so. "He gave me these and –" Alexander suddenly found it hard to breathe.

It wasn't from the runes. He knew this had to be true, because it had happened too many times without him moving a muscle. It was that painstakingly clear message that was burned into his body. He wasn't free. He'd never be free. And God, it hurt, even if freedom was something he never knew, even if it was a term completely unmet. He forced himself to plow on.

"He said I was forever loyal, ma'am. That they'd punish me if I didn't obey orders from a Morgenstern." Alexander could barely whisper, but the Inquisitor must have heard it because her eyes lit up. "Then he gave me the orders and –" He choked. "I can't tell you what he told me after the orders."

The Inquisitor nodded once, clearly eager for him to finish his story. There was something in her, like a fire had been sparked. "Did anything else happen?"

Alexander spoke without thinking for the first time in weeks. "He gave me the poison." He wasn't sure what made him blurt it out except the sudden realization that nothing from that night had triggered the rune. Impulse, he realized, was a dangerous thing.

He felt incredibly lucky that the next sound wasn't his own screams.

Instead, it was Tobias's.

"He poisoned you?" the boy shouted, unable to keep himself in his spot. Red faced and angry, he was suddenly beside the Inquisitor, whose expression made her look as if she'd been slapped. "What poison was it? What does it do? Why? Tell us, Alexander!"

Alexander stiffened and turned his face away. Tobias hadn't ever used a tone like that around him. "I – I don't know what it is!" he cried out and put his hands over his face. "It's just – he put it in a glass of wine and told me it w-would help my injuries, I d-don't – i-it's killing m-me, he said, th-that's all he s-said!" Alexander curled into himself further and tried to hide the humiliating wet streaks that now marked his cheeks. "P-please, I'm s-sorry, I-I don't know, I – I –"

"Alexander, calm down!" Tobias yelled, but his voice was gentler now. Alexander felt large hands encircle his wrists, but refused to put his hands down. "Please, Alexander, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled, it's all right," Tobias pleaded. "I'm not mad at you, kid, come on, don't do this. It's okay. I promise, I'm not mad at you. I – I overreacted, I shouldn't have."

"Shouldn't d-doesn't mean anything," Alexander choked, reciting an old lesson. "It s-still means did."

Tobias laughed hollowly. "Valentine teach that to you, too?" he asked. He slid his hands from Alexander's wrists to his shoulders, holding on firmly. "For an evil guy, he's got some nice words of wisdom. Listen, Alexander, I'm not going to hurt you. Just tell us what you do know."

Alexander spoke into his hands. "I'm d-dying," he said and his stomach felt even emptier than before. "I d-don't know w-what it d-does, j-just… I think i-it's making me v-vomit a-and I – I had a f-fever after I d-drank it." He gasped for breath, his shoulders trembling. "P-please, I'm s-sorry, I didn't – I don't – he d-doesn't need me any- anymore. He d-doesn't want – he –"

"He's trying to get rid of you?" Tobias prompted. Alexander nodded, his mouth unable to form words. Tobias's grip tightened. Alexander was used to this by now. He always grabbed tight to someone or something when he was tense. Still, he flinched at the pressure. "Why didn't he just use a knife or a fast acting poison and get it done with?"

"N-no f-fun that w-way?" Alexander suggested with a shrug. He was almost sure he'd have preferred a quick death to this internal ticking that counted down his seconds.

"How long do you have?" The Inquisitor's voice startled Alexander. He'd nearly forgotten her precense in his hysteria. She sounded strained and contemplating.

Alexander wiped at his eyes. "A y-year, ma'am. If I'm l-lucky."

The Inquisitor turned on her heel and clacked towards the door. "Carstairs, come with me."

Tobias sent Alexander a fleeting, sorrow filled glance, but followed her orders quietly.

The door shut with a bang behind them.

When Alexander was around fifteen and Jonathan was fourteen, they talked about death.

The dungeons were full of pests and bugs, predominantly mice. Alexander had learned to coexist with the little creatures and even became fond of the pitter patter of their footsteps. A family lived nearby his room and he saw them every day. Jonathan, not yet one to summon Alexander to his own room, had visited the dank prison-like area for his own form of entertainment.

Much to Jonathan's chagrin, Alexander, who already dreaded those nights, was preoccupied by one of his little friends. An older mouse, one that walked more slowly each day, had been injured somehow and now laid dying on the cold floor. He was alone. Alexander sat beside him and gently stroked the white head, vaguely aware of what was going to happen.

Jonathan came and wrapped his arms around Alexander, murmuring with his suffocating hot breath into his ear. Alexander protested, still petting the mouse as a pure distraction from the fingers that worked their way under his clothes in a spidery fashion. He didn't want the mouse to die alone, he told Jonathan. Not tonight.

Jonathan had laughed and tugged Alexander's collar to the side roughly, ignoring him as usual. Alexander said no again and insisted he would stay with the old mouse. This only caused Jonathan to laugh more cruelly. He said there was a reason the mouse was all alone. Everyone always left when you died. Once you died, you were nobody and nobody cared.

Then he dragged him into the lumpy bed and finished his game.

The bang of the door rang in Alexander's ears for several minutes until he lied down and stared at the ceiling. Jonathan must have been right.

Everyone leaves when you're dead.

Isabelle knew it sounded insensitive. She knew it was somewhat wrong. She knew they were already going crazy.

But goddammit, if the two of them didn't grab each other and screw their brains out soon, the sexual tension was going to kill her.

Sitting between Jace and Clary for hours on end was torturous. They spoke little, and each word they did say was clipped and quiet. They refused to meet eyes, they refused to even sit next to each other. Isabelle tried to get up a few times, to walk around Alicante and stretch her legs, but was pulled back into her seat each time. Neither was going to let her leave them alone.

As excited as she was to meet Alec, the reality of the situation was damn boring (except for the little soap opera sitting beside her, but that was an entirely different situation). They weren't allowed to even see him until he completely recanted Valentine. She didn't see how that could be too much of a problem, but apparently it was harder than it sounded.

"I wonder why it's taking so long," Isabelle thought aloud, hoping to strike some conversation in her companions. She wished Max hadn't been forced to stay at the Penhallows. Even more, she wished they hadn't been left out of the meeting room where their parents sat.

Jace bristled beside her. "Well, if he raised him, there's bound to be some sort of attachment." He raised his eyebrows. "Could you turn your back on your father just because they tell you so?"

Isabelle fell silent, cursing herself for her lapse of memory. At this point, she was being so tactless that she could probably get away with telling them to make out already.

"I wonder why I'm here," Clary said contemplatively and bounced her leg nervously. "I can't imagine why they need me here when they have Jace." Isabelle was tempted to kick her ankle.

"Maybe they want you for a different reason," she said instead, "Maybe they want to –"

"He's been what?"

Isabelle turned her neck towards the door so quickly that she felt it crack. Jace rose to his feet, stele already in hand, and Clary's eyes went so wide they looked like saucers.

"What's going on?" she whispered.

Isabelle reached down into her boot for her own stele and jangled her bracelets like she always did when possible conflict arose. "No clue, be quiet so we can hear." She stood and leaned her entire body towards the door and tried to drink in the shouts.

There was no need. It burst open a second later and she and Jace collapsed back into their former positions with practiced ease.

The Inquisitor strode out calmly with a blonde boy trailing along behind. Isabelle watched Mom, Dad, and the Consul follow seconds later.

"We need a warlock," the boy said urgently. "Consul, please, can't you contact one?"

Isabelle never liked Malachi. He had an air of arrogance far more obnoxious than any other Shadowhunter she knew. The sneer he set on the blonde only increased her distaste. "Why waste our time and money on it? Let him tell us the information and be done. He's going to die eventually anyway." He waved his hand and Isabelle realized that he had to be talking about Alec.

Why did he need a warlock? Isabelle sat on the edge of her seat with only Jace's strong grip holding her back. She didn't like being left out of discussions like this, especially when they were held right in front of her.

"Malachi, this is a human being that we're discussing," the Inquisitor snapped and Isabelle's wary respect for her went up tenfold. "Just because he'd physically unable to recant doesn't mean we ought to let him perish. Call up Ragnor Fell."

Malachi's mouth twisted into a grimace. "He won't do. He charges a ridiculous amount. And I still don't see the point in this! He hasn't recanted, why are we saving a spy?"

"He's just a scared kid!" the boy with the Inquisitor shouted. "He's terrified, all right? He's – I've talked to him, he's the most timid person I've met in a long while, all right? He's been abused, he's been lied to, and now he's being tortured slowly to death. Consul, he hasn't eaten in days, he's wasting away. It's only going to get worse if we don't find the antidote."

Isabelle watched her parents stand by without a word and couldn't take it anymore. Her stomach felt like a chunk of lead that sunk with every word the others said. She ripped herself out of Jace's grasp and ran into the middle of the fray. "What's going on?" she cried, unsure if she even wanted to know. "What's wrong with my brother?"

The blonde boy stepped forward and extended a hand in greeting. "You must be Isabelle. I'm Tobias."

Isabelle frowned but shook his hand. "I don't care about pleasantries. Tell me what the hell is wrong with my brother."

Tobias smiled weakly. "He needs someone to protect him. I'm glad you seem up to the job." He bit his lip and looked at the ground, otherwise unfazed by her withering glare. "Look, he's… he's not doing well. He's been poisoned and bound with runes. The runes… They used to be our biggest problem, but at the moment, the poison is overriding that on list of things to fix."

"Things to fix? There's a list of things to fix?" Isabelle intensified her glare with ease. Living with two brothers tended to teach someone how to do that. "There shouldn't be anything that we need to fix, there's nothing wrong with him the way he is."

Tobias stepped back a few inches and put his hands up in surrender. "All right, all right, relax. Just… listen, there actually is several things wrong with him, but none of it's his fault. He's definitely been abused –"

"How did Valentine do it?"

"How?" Jace was suddenly beside her. "How did Valentine abuse a kid? Isabelle, he – he wasn't ever against corporeal punishment, you know. The man wasn't a big lump of love."

Isabelle nudged him in the ribs to shut him up. "No, I mean what kinds of abuse?"

Tobias took a deep breath and Isabelle watched his hands curl into fists. "Not important right now."

"But –"

"Isabelle, you want to know what's going on, so I'm telling you. He doesn't know what the potion is, but he's been given at most a year to live. We need a warlock. And soon." Tobias had chocolate brown eyes that stared her down. "Now, Isabelle, I'd love to speak with you, but unless you know someone who can brew workable potions and use magic at a cheap price, then we'll need to wait a little longer." He stepped away, clearly intent on leaving her hanging.

"Magnus Bane." The name slipped out of Isabelle's mouth quicker than she realized. She was unmoving, somewhat shocked at the information so bluntly given. She twisted her body to stare at her parents, who were both pale and strained. "He's not cheap, but… I'm friends with him. We have his number." She looked back at Tobias for a brief second before directing her gaze towards the Inquisitor. "Magnus is the High Warlock of Brooklyn. He's good, really good. And he gave us a discount on the Portal." She searched her mind frantically for a selling argument. "He's my friend and he knows I want Alec to be okay. He'll help. Maybe even for free."

The tension laid so thickly that Isabelle figured she could have sliced it with a knife and handed out pieces on paper plates at a party.

Mom, however, handled that task. "I'll send a fire message. He's… we've worked with him before."

Malachi's face was now contorted in disgust. "This is completely useless," he muttered. "But by all means, go on. Waste the end of this boy's life by letting a million Downworlders experiment on him. And, for his own sake, I hope this Bane charges you for the rest of his life for the incredibly idiotic waste of time."

The door slammed on his way out.

Isabelle figured that she ought to start brainstorming alternate careers. Working with Malachi for her whole life was going to be hell.

End Note: Well, the big secret's out! The poison has been revealed! And none other than Magnus Bane is being called in to help! The big Magnus-Alec meeting that you've all waited so patiently for is coming up next chapter.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter (I'm not crazy about the Izzy section, I feel Robert and Mayrse were... well... bad. I'm working on writing them, it's just difficult in a large group). Reviews and feedback would be absolutely wonderful! And, of course, your speculations are so entertaining to read :) Thanks for reading!