The Art of Survival
Chapter 5: Waiting Game
Simon is spiraling. He paces the length of Magnus's living room like a caged tiger, nerves frazzled, worst case scenarios dominating his thoughts. Initially he thought about going to the Institute to stay with Clary, but the thought of being there without Izzy left him feeling even more anxious and unmoored. Besides, his best friend is so busy trying to hold her own life together and help her boyfriend run and institute—because apparently Jace is in charge in Alec's absence—that she's got virtually no time to herself, nevermind trying to find time to ease his worries. So, unsure what else to do with himself, he found his feet leading him towards Magnus's loft. Which leaves him here, pacing, worrying, undoubtedly irritating his host.
Simon knows Izzy is strong, knows that she's a fighter, more than capable of taking care of herself. And she and Alec together are a force to be reckoned with. He knows this. He's seen them in battle enough to know they're a deadly combination. If he's being honest, he's still low-key intimidated by the eldest Lightwood sibling. Perhaps more so now that his dating his sister.
But.
Simon Lewis is also self-aware enough to know that he's a worrier by nature. In the six days since his beautiful, fierce girlfriend and her brother have gone missing his mind has conjured all sorts of horrible possibilities. What if they're being tortured? What if they can't find civilization and they're slowly starving to death in an empty wasteland? What if they're being forced to entertain some horrible demon by juggling flaming swords and dancing the hula or something?
Ok, that last one is maybe not entirely realistic, but Simon's only frame of reference on hell dimensions is Edom so his imagination is running a little wild.
He knows giving his panic free reign isn't going to help anyone, least of all himself. He also doesn't know how to turn it off, how to shut down the part of him that immediately jumps to terrible what-if theories. He misses Izzy. He's scared he'll never see her again, never be able to tell her that he loves her.
And isn't that something? He loves her.
This thing between them is relatively new, he knows that, but he thinks he's maybe been slowly falling in love with her the whole time he's known her. He just didn't realize what it meant until they had the opportunity to finally explore the attraction between them. Now he can't imagine his life without her in it. He wants to take her out to fancy dinners, take her on vacation, properly introduce her to his sister. But now she's trapped in another dimension and he's barely holding himself together in her absence.
Simon is vaguely aware of Magnus saying something to him as he paces. He 'hmms' in reply but he honestly has no idea what the warlock just said. Magnus already told him that his frienemy, Addicus, might be able to help them but Simon can't resist asking again. He knows the answer won't change, that it's not going to make the other warlock get here any faster, but he craves the reassurance anyway.
OXOXOXOXO
Magnus's eyes track Simon's movements as he paces back and forth across the loft. The vampire is wringing his hands together and chewing on his bottom lip apprehensively, literally buzzing with nervous energy.
He isn't sure why the young man decided to set up camp in his loft—how he'd become Clary's placeholder—but he'd been unable to turn him away when he'd shown up on his doorstep looking lost and dejected, mumbling embarrassedly about not wanting to be alone. He reminded magnus of a kicked puppy. It was pitiful and tugged at his protective instincts. Simon has somehow become another one of Magnus's many strays.
Besides, it isn't like Magnus can't just…shove him through a portal back to his own home if he wants to. He won't though. Even with Simon's palpable frustration and repetitive questions it's still better than returning to empty loft at the end of the day.
"You're going to wear a hole in my Persian rug Sherman."
Simon 'hmms' at him in response, brown eyes flicking up briefly to acknowledge that Magnus had spoken. He continues to pace and it's clear he didn't register a single word Magnus said. The warlock purses his lips in annoyance. Children. The thought is long-suffering.
He knows Simon is worried about Isabelle, they all are, but he also knows Jace would have told them the second anything changed with the parabatai bond. He has to continue to assume they are both ok. Or as ok as they can be, trapped in a presumed realm of hell. He tells Simon as much but he knows that it does little to ease the vampire's nerves.
Abruptly, Simon drops his hands to his sides, clenches them in tight fists and comes to a stop in front of the coffee table. He stands there for several long minutes before spinning in a rather dramatic circle and then settling wide, brown eyes on Magnus.
Magnus, for his part, waits silently for Simon to find his words. Allows him as much time as he needs to sort through his tangled thoughts. He's pretty sure he already knows what the vampire is going to ask but he humors him anyway.
"This Addicus guy, he can help, right?"
With a deep sigh Magnus brings his crystal tumbler to his lips and takes a large swallow of expensive cognac. He closes his eyes, savors the slow burn of the alcohol for a moment, answers the question again.
"Addicus has spent a considerable number of years studying the unique energy signatures of the different hell dimensions and how to travel between them. It's likely that he will be able to, at the very least, point us in the right direction." He scowls, presses his lips into a thin line. He takes another fortifying sip of his drink. The brief flash of gold in his irises is the only indicator that his outward calm is just a thin veneer hiding a maelstrom of emotions.
They have had so much going on recently that Magnus doesn't remember the last time he told Alexander he loved him. Surely it was the last time they spoke on the phone, but he can't remember the last conversation they had either. He'd gone to bed six nights ago expecting to wake up the next morning with his husband beside him, or at the very least in the same city. When he'd woken to Clary's phone call instead…
In all of his very long life Magnus doesn't think he's ever felt that kind of fear before.
Magnus know that his time with Alexander is limited, was vividly aware of that before marrying the shadowhunter, but he's not ready to lose him yet. Truly, he never will be, but he hopes to have at least another 50 or so years with the love of his life. And now he has no idea where he is or how to bring him home. And he's halted in his progress because the man he's waiting on for help has a grudge against him that he refuses to let go.
Magnus doesn't like needing to rely on other people on the best of days but, Edom notwithstanding, travel between demonic realms simply isn't his area of expertise. Making a portal to take someone halfway across the globe? No problem, he can whip one up in seconds. Creating a rift to another dimension? Not only does that require immense power, but also very precise spell work and in-depth knowledge of the realm being traveled too. He shied away from that particular avenue of study for a reason, but now he vows to rectify that knowledge gap once this whole thing is over and he has his Shadowhunters home where they belonged.
Magnus will bring them home. Even if he has to go toe to toe with another prince of hell. With the raw power of Edom he absorbed upon the realm's collapse he's fairly confident in his chances should it to come to that. He doesn't want to, of course, but he will.
Despite the confidence in his abilities, however, he still needs to find them. All this waiting around makes Magnus's skin crawl with unease. He can't shake the feeling that something awful is going to happen and it leaves him clinging desperately to the frayed edges of his composure. It gets harder every day that passes without answers. It's been nearly a full week since the shadowhunters had fallen—been taken?—through the rift and they're no closer to a solution now than they were the night of their disappearance. He's managed to bottle the energy remnants from the rift for Addicus to examine but the insufferable bastard is stalling at every opportunity, citing pressing business he needs to attend to before he can lend them assistance.
Magnus knows it's bullshit.
He scowls darkly as his thoughts circle back around to Addicus Rex. "Assuming he stops fucking around like the spiteful little shit he is."
If he loses Alexander because Addicus is being petty there won't be a place in Heaven, Hell or on earth where the man will be able to hide from Magnus's wrath.
Simon takes an involuntary step back, startled at the vehemence in his tone.
"He…I mean…he can't outright refuse to help, right? Like, you guys are a super big deal in the Shadow World. He has to help."
Magnus nods, takes another fortifying sip of his drink. "He can't, but he can make us wait. And he's catty enough to do just that. Addicus and I have a…difficult past."
It's true that Addicus can't outright refuse a request from the Grand High Warlock and the Acting Head of North America's most prominent Institute, not without facing serious scrutiny from the Warlock Council and almost certainly backlash from the Clave, but he can stall. And he's taking full advantage of those stalling tactics now. He'd informed them, in his usual haughty manner, that he would be along to help them once he'd finished the tasks already on his schedule and then promptly ceased all communication. Magnus knows he's doing it purposefully, knows he's putting them off because of his personal feelings towards Magnus himself. It makes anger seethe hot and violent under his skin. His magic pulses with it, begs to be let free, to reign destruction down on the person making them wait.
When Magnus met Addicus Rex, nearly 200 years ago, the younger man had been a headstrong 19-year-old fledging warlock just coming into his powers. Through sheer dumb luck he'd managed to get his hands on a powerful summoning spell and called a Succubus up from Edom. The impressionable fool had immediately fallen under her thrall and—convinced he was in love with the demon—let her run amok in the mundane world. She fed with reckless abandon and left trail of bodies a mile wide in her wake.
Magnus had been in Germany at the time and had been asked by the High Warlock of the region to look into the matter. When he'd finally tracked down the young man and his demon lover Addicus had been so far under the creature's influence that he'd been impossible to reason with. Magnus had been forced to destroy the succubus's very essence rather than banishing her back to Edom, lest Addicus simply summon her again. Consequently, Addicus had also been permanently banned from Europe for his negligent behavior and the deaths of the mundanes at his lover's hands. The other warlock had never forgiven him for the part he'd played in the whole fiasco.
Magnus is barely aware of the red tendrils of wild magic curling and twisting around his fingers, sparking angrily the more he thinks about Addicus Rex and his intentional delay. He doesn't realize how out of control the magic is until the glass in his hand shatters, dark liquor and blood spilling over his fingers and into the carpet below. He hardly registers the pain of the glass slicing into his skin. It's Simon's startled yelp that brings him back to himself.
The vampire has himself flattened against the bookcase, is eyeing Magnus wearily. "Sorry, sorry. I'll stop asking questions!" He sputters before vanishing into the guest room.
Magnus tries to feel bad about scaring his house guest, but he's too busy vacillating between terrified and furious and he really just doesn't have the emotional range to accommodate additional guilt. With an errant wave he cleans up the spilled liquor, mends the gash in his palm and summons himself a new drink. He closes his eyes and sucks in a shuddering breath, scrubs a hand across his face. Doesn't care if it smudges his eyeliner.
Alexander's absence sits like a heavy weight in his chest, a deep ache pulsing behind his ribcage. Tears burn the backs of his eyes and he feels so very helpless.
Magnus hasn't felt this useless since he traded his magic in exchange for the power to save Jace. It drives his feelings of inadequacy even deeper. If he can't even keep his own husband safe how can he possibly protect the entirety of the North American Downworld?
OXOXOXOXO
Jace blows out a harsh breath, leans back in his chair and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes so hard it makes spots of color burst across his vision. The reports on his desk, Alec's desk—because his brother is coming home—are an unreadable blur. He doesn't think he has the ability to finish even one more tonight. He knew on some level that his parabatai was stretched thin with everything going on, not to mention his recent promotion, but he hadn't realized just how much responsibility rested squarely on Alec's shoulders.
After everything that had happened with Valentine and Jonathan the Clave had finally seen fit, albeit begrudgingly, to give the eldest Lightwood sibling a seat on the Council. They awarded him not just Headship of the New York Institute but also of the North American Conclave. That they would give the position to a gay Shadowhunter, one married to a powerful Downworlder no less, spoke volumes. Though, Jace thinks that after the devastation of the demon attack in Idris perhaps the significant shifts in power had more to do with it.
So many Shadowhunters had fallen that day. The younger generations—those more open minded, more sympathetic towards the Downworld—had taken up the mantles of their fallen parents and began pushing for changes. The older Council members who survived were still fighting tooth and nail to hold tight to their antiquated ideals, but had finally caved and offered their support once Alec presented his marriage to Magnus as a political alliance. One that had the ability usher in a new era of pace between their people that hadn't existed previously. Jace remembers the vicious pleasure that had pinged across the bond when Alec also reminded them that his husband was the only reason Alicante was still standing. If Magnus hadn't swopped in to save their collective angelic asses, sacrificing himself in the process, the demon towers would have fallen and with them the Nephilim's homeland.
Jace knows it made Alec feel awful to have to use his relationships with Magnus like that, but he also knows that Magnus is a leader of his own people and understand that sometimes tactics like that are necessary. Hell, the warlock was probably the one who encouraged Alec to spin it that way. Despite his early misgivings about their relationship, Jace is so incredibly grateful that Alec has someone like Magnus in his life.
With a deep sigh, Jace turns his attention back to the piles of paperwork spread out before him. He drops his head into his hands, lets out a petulant whine. He has no idea how his brother fields the numerous reports, requests, requisition forms, patrol schedules and council meetings without losing his mind. It's no wonder this is usually a two-person job.
Guilt still gnaws at Jace sometimes for how negligent and demanding he'd been when Clary had come careening into their lives like a fiery wrecking ball. While he will never regret meeting the love of his life, he does regret the role he played in making Alec's life harder during an already tumultuous time. He knows Alec doesn't hold it against him. They talked about it; apologies were made and accepted and Jace had sworn to do better. It didn't erase what had already been done though and he makes a conscious effort every day not to fall back into old habits.
"You're brooding again."
Jace snaps his head up, heterochromatic eyes meeting tired green ones. It really says something about how tired he is that he didn't even hear the door opening.
Clary leans heavily against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest in a way the belies her own exhaustion. She smiles thinly, a barely there upturn of her lips. "Teams 2, 4, 6, 8 and 10 have checked in, minimal injuries and no casualties. I sent them to get a quick bite to eat then to get some sleep. Teams 1, 3, 5, 7 and 9 have just left for their shifts. Andrew just relieved me from ops, he's monitoring the teams that are out and will let us know if we're needed. Why don't we go get some sleep of our own while we still can? I had to schedule us on the 8am rotation with Sprice's team since Bloodmoon and Waters are still in the infirmary." She casts a disparaging glance at the mess on the desk. "I'll help you read through those reports after tomorrow's patrol, ok?"
Jace just nods at her a bit dazedly and pushes up from his seat. A quick glance at the clock tells him it's nearing 1 am. Baring anything crazier than demon rifts appearing at all hours of the day and night they might actually be able to catch a solid six hours tonight. Wrapping an arm around Clary he pulls the office door closed and guides them both down the hall and towards their room. "You're good at this."
Clary knocks her shoulder against him gently, gives him another tired smile. "Yeah?"
He hums an affirmative. "I'm serious, you are. Maybe when Alec gets back you should ask him to let you handle patrol schedules permanently." He uses 'when' intentionally, because 'if' is simply not acceptable. Jace has always been the reckless one, the one who leaps before he looks. He's always expected to be the one that goes first. And maybe it's selfish of him to think that way but he doesn't think he's strong enough to survive losing his parabatai. Alec has always been the strong one in their relationship—despite what his brother thinks—the one who grounds Jace and keeps his broken pieces tacked together with his steady presence. He can't lose him.
"Maybe. We'll see." Clary sounds doubtful and Jace doesn't miss the slight furrow of her brows.
He squeezes her a little tighter, a gesture of support meant for them both. "You don't think he'll go for it?"
She shrugs. "I mean…I know it seems like all this time has passed, but it's really been less than a year since…" she waves her arm, the one not curled around his waist—under the warmth of his hoodie—in a way that indicates 'all that crazy shit we survived'. "I know that we've become friends, family even, but I'm not sure he has that kind of confidence in me yet. I…I haven't done much to prove that he should, and before you argue, we both know it's true. I was short sighted and scared and some of the things I did put you all in dangerous situations that could have been avoided if I'd taken the time to listen to," she snorts a little self-deprecatingly, "anybody else really. In the moment I was so sure I was doing the right thing….but… well…hindsight is 2020, you know? And just because he might have decided to basically adopt me now that he doesn't hate, it doesn't mean I don't have to prove my worth, earn that responsibility."
Jace doesn't know how to respond to that. It had worked out in the end, but he can't help wondering about the 'shoulda, coulda, woulda' of it all. In the aftermath of everything he can pinpoint so many things they all could have done differently. But, if they had, would they have still made it to where they are now? Maybe things happened as they were meant to.
Instead of a verbal reply he presses a lingering kiss against Clary's temple. There' no point dwelling on things they can't change. "Come one, let's go to bed. We'll worry about proving what a badass scheduler you are once we bring them home."
Clary chuckles a little and proceeds him into their darkened room. They don't bother with lights as they strip off their clothes and fall, exhausted, into bed. Jace barely has the energy to tuck Clary in against him before sleep rises up to claim him.
Jace feels like barely five minutes have passed—though a glance on his clock tells him it's been just over three hours—before a steady knocking pulls him from sleep. Beside him Clary groans and grumbles something unflattering about whoever is on the other side of their door.
"I'm sorry to have to wake you," it's Underhill's voice. To be fair, he does sound apologetic. "But Addicus Rex just arrived and is demanding to speak with the Acting Head of the Institute."
Jace is instantly alert. "Show him to Alec's office, we'll be right there."
OXOXOXOXO
When Jace and Clary push through the door to the Head's office—fresh stamina runes still burning on their skin and cups of the sludge that passes for Institute coffee gripped in their hands—they come up short at the palpable tension that hangs heavy in the small room.
Magnus has one hip hitched against Alec's desk, arms folded tightly across his chest and lips pressed together in a thin line. His usual makeup and adornments are conspicuously absent, once more the only jewelry on him his wedding band and Alec's insignia ring. He'd come dressed in dark black jeans and one of Alec's sweaters. Even his glamor is down, piercing gold eyes focused unerringly on the other man who sprawls across the sofa like he owns the place. He's radiating barely controlled rage and pain.
The scene makes Jace's hackles rise, makes his feathers itch.
He wasn't sure what he was expecting upon meeting the other warlock, and maybe those expectations had been colored by his proximity to Magnus, but this isn't it.
Addicus Rex is a tall, wiry man with fluffy auburn hair, blue eyes and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Aside from the wicked ebony horns that curl back from his forehead he looks altogether unassuming in his ripped skinny jeans, scuffed combat boots and a gray hoodie two sizes too big for his slender frame. His gaze is sharp and calculating where it's locked with Magnus's and the intelligence and cunning in his eyes is unmistakable. Magnus hadn't elaborated on his past with the other warlock, but the tick in the man's clenched jaw speaks to far more than a simple misunderstanding. Jace dislikes him on sight.
After another long moment of tense silence Clary clears her throat delicately. She nudges Jace in the direction of their guest before settling herself next to Magnus and squeezing his harm. He pats her hand and gives her a quick, tight smile.
Shaking off his unease Jace strides forward, extends his free hand to Addicus. It takes everything in him to plaster a pleasant smile on his face. He knows the man has been stonewalling them for days out of spite and it makes him want to punch the warlock in the face, not shake his hand. Jace hates diplomacy. Alec is so much better at this shit.
"I'm Jace Herondale and this is Clary Fairchild. Thank you for meeting with us Mr. Rex, we appreciate you taking the time out of your busy schedule to assist with this."
Addicus switches that narrowed gaze on Jace now, taking the proffered hand with a quick firm shake before leaning back against the sofa once more. "Yes, well, I suppose it's not everyday one gets a request from the Acting Head of the New York Institute and…" his lip curls in distaste, "the Grand High Warlock, now is it?" The distain that drips from his words is impossible to miss and Jace once again finds himself wondering what Magnus could have possibly done to garner such ire from the man. He forcefully tamps down his own anger at the clear disrespect being directed at his brother-in-law. He and Magnus might butt heads on a lot of things, but they were family and Jace protects anyone he's claimed as family fiercely.
Clary, ever the peace maker, is quick to insert herself into the conversation. "We'll try not to take up too much of your time Mr. Rex." She quickly takes the jar Magnus silently offers her and holds it out to the other Warlock with a deceptively bright smile. Jace knows that smile. It's the one she uses when she wants to claw someone's eyes out but knows she can't. "This is the energy we were able to save from the site of the rift," she explains. "We were hoping you might recognize the magical signature and be able to tell us where it leads."
Addicus takes the jar from her with careful hands, eyeing the swirling green energy speculatively. Silver whisps of magic dance around his fingers, over the clear surface of the jar. Jace doesn't miss the way his eyes widen, his expression flickering from disdainful to worried. His heart is trying to crawl out of his throat now. That can't be a good sign.
Addicus swallows thickly and passes the jar back to Clary with a frown. He grimaces, purposefully diverts his gaze away from Magnus. "Gehenna." He voice is quiet but the word rings loudly in the air.
Magnus curses violently and a wave of wild power shudders through the room, whipping papers off the desk and shattering the mirror above the fireplace. The scent of smoke and ash hangs heavy in the air.
Jace can feel currents of the magic curling and twisting around him, a physical manifestation of the warlock's turbulent emotions. He has a fleeting thought that if even he can feel it then the display must be truly impressive. It doesn't hurt but it is uncomfortable, like gravity pressing in from all sides. He has to reach out and steady himself against the desk.
Even Addicus seems to be struggling under the press of the magical pressure. The man licks his lips nervously, eyes still focused anywhere but on Magnus.
OXOXOXOXO
When Addicus takes the jar of rift energy from Clary Fairchild he isn't sure what to expect. He eyes it speculatively, something about its energy signature familiar even without performing the diagnostic spell.
Regardless of his personal feeling towards Magnus Bane, he is still a professional and, now that he's here, will do the job he's been hired for to the best of his ability. He holds no ill will towards these shadowhunters—their questionable taste in companions aside—and upon further study of their haggard appearance, the clear worry and desperation in their eyes, he feels a small sliver of guilt creep in at his treatment of their rather urgent request. Time to do this quickly then.
He lets tendrils of his own wispy silver magic curls over his finger and around the jar, probes at the energy trapped inside.
Oh.
Oh fuck.
That flicker of guilt intensifies. Not because he made Magnus wait, no, but because he'd left two of the most forward thinking shadowhunters in the history of the Clave to rot in Gehenna—a realm ruled by arguably one of the most brutal Princes of Hell in existence—because of a personal vendetta neither of them are responsible for.
While Mammon's power may not be as great as that of some of his bothers, the demon of greed has a penchant for cruelty unsurpassed by any other greater demon. Except, perhaps, Asmodeus.
Addicus swallows, sits up straight, passes the jar back to Clary with careful hands. He grimaces, refuses to look at his old nemesis. He has, perhaps, made a very large mistake. "Gehenna."
He flinches when Magnus curses. The wave of raw, uncontrolled magic that floods the room tastes of Edom. Ash and smoke and the underlying heady traces of lust. Addicus has made his life's work studying and understanding the realms of hell and this energy, to him, is unmistakable. He very suddenly realizes exactly who Magnus is. He'd always known the other warlock was powerful but this…this is…unfathomable. Addicus feels an almost overwhelming desire to flee, to hide, to beg forgiveness.
He grunts under the force of the magic, notices even the two shadowhunters seem to be faltering under the pressure. Their eyes are locked on Magnus, full of concern and worry as they watch him struggle to rein in the wild magic.
Addicus is aware that he will need to play this very carefully if he hopes to walk out of this situation unscathed. He has, for all intents and purpose, pissed off a prince of hell.
His voice cracks when he speaks. "I can help."
Whew, this chapter was fighting me for a while. Between sick pets and uncooperative muses this took a bit longer than I was anticipating to get done. Thank you all for sticking with me though! Next up we check back in with Alec and Izzy in Gehenna. As always, I love hearing from you all, reviews make my day. 3
-GPO
