Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Magnus skipped his way into the high-rise building that housed his loft. The building doorman tipped his hat as he opened the door, and Magnus winked at him, suppressing a laugh at the slight twitch the act brought to Joshua's mouth. The normally stalwart doorman was as serious as they came. He was tall, of a slender build, and self-contained. If not that his job actually entailed him opening the doors and helping the residents in whatever way they needed him to, some would assume he were a statue.

But statues didn't have eyes that danced, or lips that twitched like they weren't sure if they wanted to laugh or ask Magnus exactly what had put him in such a good mood.

His good mood stayed with him as he walked across the lobby to the private elevators that led directly to his loft at the top of the building—perks of being the owner of the whole place, although few residents were aware of that. It stayed with him as he pressed the singular button that shot him straight to the very top, opening with a ding once it arrived on his floor.

His feet sank into the plush carpeting as he made his way to the door, his mind going back to hazel eyes and a cocky grin. He could hear Alec's laughter at the back of his mind, could imagine how he would have laughed when he got the note asking that they be willfully stupid together.

The thought made him laugh, and the laughter carried as he turned the lock, pulled open his door and walked into his home to find every corner of it occupied by friends with no concept of locked doors or much desired privacy.

"What the fuck?!"

They looked up from their positions—Raphael who had been staring out at the sky through his window, Gretel who had raided his kitchen and walked out with her fingers buried in a cookie tin, crumbs of biscuits scattered all across her mouth. Ragnor who had made himself comfortable in front of his bookshelves, Cat who was mixing a cocktail—probably a Daiquiri—at the bar, Simon who'd commandeered his television and was playing a game of keep Clary away from the remote with Maia. Clary looked like she was a minute away from pulling out a hairpin and going all bloody murder. Not like her glare fazed her friends who alternated between teasing her, and trying to agree on what they should watch next. Luke was on the phone, the way he moved his hands, and the soft smile on his face, a dead giveaway that he was talking to Jocelyn.

The moment the door closed behind Magnus with a resounding click, every eye in the room turned to him.

Magnus sighed. "This is the fourth time this month that I've changed the locks. And yet," he stretched out his hands to encompass the room, and by extension his friends, "here you all are. Again." He grinned, more teeth than actual smile. "Like cockroaches."

Simon and Clary chuckled. Their mirth clearly communicating that they thought he was being silly. The rest of his friends looked at him like he'd lost his damn mind. Maia pointed at herself, and then at the rest of them. "You do know we're assassins, right?"

"Like, we actually break into homes, and offices and places where we shouldn't be able to get access to, so we can carry out our jobs," Gretel added. A slight twinge of is it me or is he down a couple of brain cells running beneath the words.

Magnus glared at her, and she rolled her eyes. Gretel Monroe was nothing, if not disrespectful of the natural order of things. If he didn't like her so much, he would have strangled her in her sleep.

Maia coughed.

But that would mean Maia would come for him, and knowing her, she was bloodthirsty enough to take off his balls for doing that. He loved his balls. So Gretel stayed.

"Plus, Joshua is more loyal to me than he is to you," Cat said as she walked around the sofa, giving Clary and Simon a wide berth—the two were now silently glaring at each other, whilst Maia surfed through the channels, with her prize in hand—as she walked over and handed Magnus a glass.

He took a sip. Hmmm. Daiquiri. Just as he'd expected.

"No he isn't," Magnus murmured.

Cat shook her head, staring at him with the eyes of one who regularly indulged him. "You might pay his bills, but I am sure I know more about the man's personal life than you do."

Magnus opened his mouth to argue about that, but she cut in. "How old are his kids? Where are they going to school? Why did his wife retire from her job? Why has his doctor changed his medication?" She smiled when all that got her was a confused stare. "You are jovial and cheerful. But it's all a front Magnus." She tapped his forehead lightly. "He knows nothing about you, and you know next to nothing about him. That's how it goes in our line of work. Any other way, and the bodies start to drop."

Magnus eyed her. "And yet—"

"And yet we waste hours, talking about your doorman when there are more pressing matters," Raphael cut in as he strode over to Magnus. He held out his hand, the air about him just about vibrating with the impatient edge he was emitting. "Did you get it?"

Magnus raised a brow. "Did you doubt that I would?"

Raphael shrugged. "What can I say? The last time you had one job to do—get the case and kill the mark—you failed. Forgive me, for not holding out hope that this time, things were any different."

"Fuck you Raphael."

Raphael smirked and wiggled his fingers, silently urging Magnus to get to it, and hand over the envelope.

Magnus rolled his eyes, pushing by Raphael until he got to the center of the room. He dragged one of the wingback chairs until he was seated in front of the giant oak table that took up the center spot in the living room, and waited until the others had gathered all around him.

Cat provided him with the letter opener, and he felt a hum of satisfaction as he slid the bladed edge beneath the envelope. Pulling out the contents, his eyes lighted on the black and white pictures, and a single coordinate printed on a tiny scrap of paper.

The coordinate might have been information leading him to his quarry, but he couldn't take his eyes off the tall, lanky man in the pictures. He looked flawless as always in his all black suit, the camera capturing that moment when he was adjusting his cufflinks, a smirk on his lips as he stared right into the camera. Like he somehow sensed that a couple of weeks after the picture had been taken, Magnus would be staring down at it.

Azaziel had always been a pompous son of a bitch.

"Fuck," Luke breathed over his shoulder. "It really is him."

"I thought the rumours were that he was dead," Cat said. She tried to hide it, but he could hear the worry in her voice. More so when the worry was directed at him.

Magnus shrugged. "You know how things work in our line of work Catarina. Never assume an assassin is dead unless you pulled the trigger yourself and set the match that set them ablaze."

She sucked in a breath and he reached out behind him, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. She rubbed his shoulders in return, and both their attention returned to the pictures.

"It still doesn't mean those coordinates will finally lead us to him though," Raphael muttered. His eyes scanned the room, voicing the thoughts others had but hadn't shared. "We've stumbled on way too many dead ends in our search to assume that this is the Holy Grail, Magnus. You know that."

"I don't think that's the case this time around though," Magnus said. When everyone looked askance at him, he shrugged. "Someone else found the package important enough to hire another assassin to kill Giovanni Ricci and grab the envelope he was carrying."

"So?" Ragnor asked with a shrug. "That's the nature of the business we're in Magnus. You want something you hire an assassin. Nine times out of ten, you're going to learn that someone else wants it too. There's nothing new or special about it. It's the life we live."

Magnus nodded. "That's true." He waited a moment, until Ragnor looked like he was about to rise from his chair—probably to go back to skulking by his bookshelves—then he dropped the bomb. "Unless the person they hire for the job, is a certain Lightwood whose path has already crossed mine earlier."

Immediately he said the words, the room changed. Ragnor sat back so fast; Magnus said a silent thank you to whichever deity was listening that had kept his chair unbroken. "Did you say Lightwood?" Ragnor asked.

"As in, Alec Lightwood?" Clary asked.

Magnus nodded. Fighting back a smile at the way they all unanimously leaned forward, silently asking him to spill the details.

"Turned out someone had hired him to relieve Giovanni Ricci of his package. Fortunately, I got there first, slipped in a bit of poison," he inclined his head in Clary's direction, silently thanking her for it. She beamed. "He dropped several minutes after. I grabbed the package and left."

Simon's eyes narrowed. "That's it?"

"Nothing else happened?" Gretel asked, her disbelief as clear as day.

Magnus nodded.

"And you were calm when you met him?" She crossed her arms and scoffed. "What happened to the Magnus Bane who would gut a man for stealing his job?" She looked around incredulously. "Or am I the only one who can smell the bullshit." Magnus made to talk but she forged ahead. "He stole your kill a couple of days ago! He left you with the body." She brought her thumb and index finger closer together. "You were this close to getting caught and framed for the one murder you didn't commit. What is wrong with you?" Her eyes narrowed. "How cute is this Alec Lightwood."

"What the—"

"Ignore her Magnus," Cat interrupted with a laugh. "I for one am proud that you acted civil. Her smile turned mischievous. "It's surprisingly smart of you."

He flipped her off, and nearly jumped back when Raphael swung around to his side of the table and wagged his finger in his face. "Raphael! What the—"

"You've started thinking with your dick again haven't you," Raphael growled.

"Seriously Raphael? Do you really think so little of me?"

Raphael didn't hesitate. "Yes." He ignored everyone else's burst of laughter and pointed at Magnus. "We know you. Plus, you've got that look in your eyes."

"Look?"

"Yes. Like you're a couple of minutes away from being completely smitten and changing your name to Lightwood-Bane."

It didn't even deserve a response, so Magnus did the next best thing. He flipped off Raphael, who merely crossed his arms and kept glaring at Magnus.

He was not smitten with Alec Lightwood. His eyes danced away, until they met Ragnor. Ragnor who was staring at him intently, his eyes getting that slight out of focus look like his mind was miles away, even though his body was physically present.

"What?" Magnus asked.

Ragnor just continued to stare at him, seeing him, but not really seeing him at the same time.

"Ragnor Fell!" Magnus snapped. When that startled Ragnor out of whatever trance he'd fallen into, Magnus asked. "What is it?"

Ragnor shrugged. "It's nothing." When Magnus continued to stare at him, he finally spoke. "It's just… don't you think it's… too much of a coincidence though?" His eyes scanned the room, looking for someone who agreed with his thoughts.

Luke nodded. "I'm just as curious." His eyes wandered over to Magnus. "This is the second time you're running into the Lightwood Boy in less than a week. Seems to me like someone is purposefully putting him in your way."

Magnus couldn't help it. He laughed, and then waved off the twin looks of annoyance that crossed both Ragnor and Luke's faces. "I don't mean to laugh, it's just…" He pointed at Luke. "Obviously police work is getting to you." He jerked his chin at Ragnor. "And your paranoia is showing again, Ragnor."

Luke cocked his head, the expression on his face making it clear that he was deliberating Magnus' words. Finally he nodded, and smiled. Ragnor meanwhile rolled his eyes.

He opened his mouth, probably to say one more reason why he believed his paranoia was valid when apartment door swung open again, and in strolled Alaric.

"Of course you have a key to my apartment as well," Magnus muttered snidely as he strode to the bar to fix himself a Bloody Mary. It seemed the drink most fitting for his present situation.

Alaric, for the first time ever ignored his words and instead made a beeline for Luke. He held out a file and waited impatiently for Luke to flip through the pages.

"This… This is impossible," Luke finally said as he looked up from the file.

Alaric shook his head. "Warren confirmed it himself. He was the one that brought it up. After noting the similarities when he was logging in the details for Mikey's heart attack. His ammonia, glucose and micros level were exactly the same as that of a vic brought in five years ago."

"Which vic?" Luke asked.

"Charles Freeman. Caucasian male. Five-nine. Blonde hair. Light blue eyes. Was one of the original circle members, scurrying about with the vain hope to install a new leader. Until he was poisoned that is," Alaric replied.

"And Mikey's readings were identical to his?"

"Down to elevated zinc levels." He nodded at the unasked question he saw on Luke's face. "Michael didn't die of a heart attack, he was murdered."

The words pulled a gasp from the corner of the room and everyone turned to look at Simon whose mouth hung open, his eyes wide and startled as he alternated between staring back at them, and silently communicating with Clary who looked just as stunned as he did.

"What?" Alaric snapped.

"When you say Michael, do you mean Michael Altman?"

"You know him?" Luke asked.

Simon nodded and licked his lips; a nervous habit he only exhibited when he was unsure how best to break news he was sure people wouldn't react so well to. Magnus braced himself. "Yes I do." His expression turned apologetic. "He was my mark."

Alaric froze, looking like the littlest of breeze would blow him over. "He was what?"

"My mark," Simon repeated. "I got a client request." He held out his hand before either Luke or Alaric could speak. "And before you ask, it was anonymous, like every bit of work we get."

"But—" Alaric started to say.

"You know it's our policy," Simon reminded them. "We never meet with the client directly."

"And what happened next," Magnus asked as he went back to his seat, taking several mouthfuls of his Bloody Mary.

"I read through the terms. The client wanted Mikey's death to look natural." He shrugged and pointed at Clary. "So I had Clary make me the poison."

They all turned to look at Clary in stunned amazement, even Alaric who looked like he was about to start complaining about Simon's kill.

Clary blinked at them. "What?"

Raphael was the first to speak. "You made the poison."

Clary rolled her eyes. "Of course. The last time Simon tried mixing poison, he almost killed himself."

Simon gave a sheepish laugh, but his laugh did nothing to discourage everyone else who continued staring at Clary like she was alien. Which, if Magnus was being honest, was the same question he was presently asking himself. Who would have thought Clary Fray had the ability or patience to make such a poison?

"You actually have the skill to make a poison that would kill someone quickly and without them feeling any pain?" Luke asked incredulously.

"Maybe she's ill?" Cat wondered aloud.

"She probably swapped bodies with an alien," Raphael muttered, looking suspicious enough that for a brief moment, Magnus considered that Raphael might actually believe what he'd just said. He fought a chuckle.

"Or maybe someone hit her on the back of her head," Maia added as she walked behind Clary, feeling for the bump that would confirm her own supposition.

Clary slapped her hands away, and glared.

"Maybe she has a twin sister," Gretel said, looking proud that she'd come up with the obvious explanation to the situation.

Just as they all started to nod, Ragnor cut in, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. "Heavens save me from the idiots you have seen fit to surround me with."

"Hey!"

"What the hell Ragnor!"

"Who the hell are you calling an idiot?"

Ragnor rolled his eyes. "The answer is pretty obvious, if only you all allowed yourselves to think about it." He pointed at Clary. "She isn't the one that came up with the formula she used to make the poison."

Their mouths opened in a collective oh, and then they nodded.

That made way much sense. Although Magnus knew confirming it aloud to Ragnor would mean they would never hear the end of it. Thankfully, nobody said it aloud, so they were spared from Ragnor's overly inflated ego for one night.

"Wait a minute," Clary said as she glared around the room. "Why are you all assuming I wasn't the one that came up with the original formula? Who said I can't do it?"

Magnus rose from his seat and stooped down until he was at eye level with Clary. He held her hands. "Biscuit, have you met you?"

She burst out laughing, and flipped him off.

Everyone joined in the laughter, temporarily forgetting the origin of the entire conversation. Alaric however, was there to bring them back to earth. "Why are you all laughing?" He hissed and pointed at Simon. "He killed my CI! My in to the Tsuris and the only lead we had to nabbing Pangborn for all the shit he's done."

They all winced at the name.

Magnus scowled. "That fucker deserves to die."

Clary nodded. "But he can't just have a regular death though. His has to be bloody and very painful." Her eyes narrowed and she grit her teeth. Hard. "I'm talking cutting him with a million razor blades and while he is still alive, dropping him into a boiling vat of alcohol."

Their conversations screeched to a halt and everyone stared horrified at her. Everyone, except Raphael who seemed more impressed than horrified.

"What?" Clary asked, looking genuinely confused, like she could not fathom why they were all staring at her like that.

Magnus chuckled and patted her hair. "Never change, Biscuit."

Clary beamed at the praise.

Luke sighed. "Don't encourage her Magnus."

Magnus shrugged and motioned at Luke to scoot over so he could take up his seat on the twin sofa.

Alaric looked like he was about to start muttering about his dead CI again when Ragnor spoke. "Once again, am I the only one with sense in this room?"

Once again, everyone glared at him, with Cat looking she was visually picturing gutting him with the wine glass she was squeezing the life out of.

When he was met with silence, Ragnor clarified. "Simon, after you completed the job, you reached out to the client right?"

"So?" Alaric asked. "Clients tend to use burner phones to follow through on their given assignments. And they ditch them after the job is done."

"Yes. But our guild doesn't collect cash," Ragnor pointed out.

Alaric perked up at the realization, and everyone again turned to Simon who nodded. "Yeah. He did a wire transfer."

Magnus could feel the collective sigh of relief that went through the room. But then Simon continued speaking.

"But I don't think it will help. He used a Shell Corporation. And you know what that means." His eyes met Luke's. "Offshore accounts, and pseudo addresses."

Ragnor shrugged and flexed his fingers. "Leave that to me. I will get you the name. Easy."

Luke grinned and Alaric held both hands out and clasped them together.

Ragnor laughed and shook his head. "Just a simple thank you will do Alaric."

Alaric shook his head. "Do you think this is me thanking you? No. Luke will do that well enough for the both of us. This is me begging. Do any of you know anyone who's in with the Tsuris?"

Cat looked contemplative, as did Raphael. Clary and Simon shook their heads and Cat and Raphael joined in after a brief amount of time. Maia however… she winced, so briefly, he would have missed it if he hadn't been staring in her general direction. As it was, he noticed. And he also saw that Gretel noticed as well. He made a mental note to talk to Maia about it later.

Alaric meanwhile slumped back in his seat, looking defeated when nobody could give him an answer he could work with. The sight prompted Magnus to head back to the bar and he made Alaric his favourite: gin and tonic.

He poured them both over ice, and handed the cup over to Alaric who downed the entire contents in two large swallows, causing Luke to stare at him in concern. Luke looked like he was about to caution Alaric about slowing things down when Simon's phone pinged.

Simon glanced at the phone and shot to his feet, grabbing his bag and his phone, all the while muttering to himself. "Not again. Not again!" He'd clearly forgotten that they were in the loft, and he stepped over Raphael and Ragnor in his haste to get out.

After he'd left, they all turned to Clary who looked back at them, exasperated. "What? It's not like we're joined at the hip."

Nobody replied to that. Just kept staring until she finally sighed. "He has a paper due in two days, and he hasn't even started researching or writing the paper. He's probably headed to the library right now."

They all nodded.

"Yup. Sounds just like Simon all right," Maia said with a smile.

Gretel shook her head. "That boy is a mess."

"Of that we can both agree, Monroe," Raphael muttered.

"And here I thought the boy was finally going on a date," Cat muttered.

"Date?"

Cat nodded. "Yeah. He hasn't done that much dating since his last boyfriend—what was his name again? Quentin? Quade? Quincy?"

"Quinn," Maia supplied.

"Yes. Quinn. He hasn't dated at all since that creep of a boy broke his heart. If anyone deserves to find love again, it's definitely Simon," Cat said.

Raphael stared at her like she'd lost her mind. "Clearly, dating Dorothea has messed with your head," he said snidely.

Cat flipped him off.

"But really though Catarina," Magnus said. "Assassins don't fall in love. Especially not when they're still in our line of work. Too damn risky."

"Exactly," Maia said. "Look at Jocelyn and Luke." Luke startled, like he hadn't expected to be brought into the conversation and Maia winked at him. "They work so well together because Jocelyn walked away from it all, and decided to give herself a new life, living among more honest, non-killing folks. That's the only way they could get their happy ending."

"Agreed," Gretel said, and everyone nodded along with her.

"Clearly, Jocelyn is the strongest of us all." At the questioning looks she got, Cat clarified. "It must have taken a lot for her to walk away, and stay away. I am awed by her level of control."

Magnus shook his head. "I don’t think I will ever understand what madness would convince her, or anyone to believe it's a good idea to walk away from the life we live." He was sure he sounded incredulous, and he didn't care. "Assassins don't get to walk away. Our pasts will always come back to bite us in the ass and stab us in the back." He shrugged. "It's our way of life. And I don't think there's anything we can do to change the outcome. No matter how hard or how much we try to.

Jocelyn chanced a quick glance on the timer on her dashboard as she pulled up outside Clary's apartment block. Clary was nothing, if not a creature of habit, which meant she was most likely home that afternoon, hands deep in brewing her poisons.

Or she could be painting. It all depended on how stuck she was feeling.

Jocelyn nodded at one of the residents who held open the door for her to step through. "Thank you Jackie."

Jackie winked and walked out, hands filled with recyclable bags, mouth moving a mile a minute as she talked to someone using her headpiece.

The sight had Jocelyn chuckle as she took the steps—three at a time—until she pulled up in front of Clary's apartment. Three knocks later, she huffed as she pulled out the spare key Clary had handed over after one too many incidents of her not hearing Jocelyn's knocks on the door.

Jocelyn pushed the door open, eyes scanning the apartment, searching for Clary. The apartment was a vast open space, with few walls—a legacy of Clary buying two apartments and knocking down the separating walls so she could build herself a loft she could lose herself in.

And lose herself she did. Constantly. So much so that searching for Clary in her apartment, especially when she had her headphones on a study in adventure quest.

Thankfully enough, Jocelyn didn't have to look far. Just like she'd expected, Clary was in the sectioned off space she'd turned into a lab, a pungent smell permeated the air as she poured a red liquid into a test tube.

The mixture hissed, bubbling to the surface, as some of its content spilled over the table. But then it settled and calmed and Clary looked up with a smile.

"Mum," she said, as she leaned over to wash her hands in the sink. She grabbed a napkin and wiped her hands as she walked over until she was standing in front of Jocelyn, laughing as Jocelyn gave her a hug. "I didn't know you were coming over today." She gestured at her workstation. "I would have…" She trailed off with a laugh. "How's Dot?" She asked and motioned at Jocelyn to have a seat on one of the many stools in her improvised lab.

"Dot is good. She's making me so much money hiking up the prices of my paintings, I wonder why I didn't quit my job and paint full time, ages ago."

Clary tsked. "Because you loved training and teaching."

She was right about that. "How is Simon? How is school?" She eyed Clary carefully. "Hope you haven't killed any more teachers?"

Clary rolled her eyes. "You kill one person who clearly deserved it, and nobody ever lets you forget it." She sighed. "And Simon is fine. He's catching up with an assignment, but then, when is never behind on his school work?"

Jocelyn snot-laughed. That was also true. If there was ever a deadline that Simon could meet, he would always make sure that he left it all till the last moment, before getting it done. What made it even more hilarious was the fact that when it came to carrying out a kill, no one was as punctual at hitting the client's deadline like Simon was. It just went to show that being an assassin was his calling, and not the sociology degree Elaine had prodded him into studying.

Not like Elaine had any idea that her son killed people for a living, and was very good at it. Plus, he had more money than generations of their family could ever hope to spend. Some things were better left unspoken.

"And your art? How's it coming along?"

Clary froze mid-reach for a beaker. "My art?" She repeated.

Jocelyn nodded. "Yes, your art. Can't I ask about it?"

Clary sniffed. "Yeah… You can. It's just…" She tilted her head and studied her suspiciously. "You only ask when you're trying to lead into…" She trailed off and sighed. "What do you want to ask me mum?"

Jocelyn opened her mouth, but Clary wagged her finger. "And don't try lying. I love you. And I know you. And I am sure you didn't come to catch up on small talk." She smiled, probably to take the sting out of her words. "You could have easily called for that."

Jocelyn sighed. There was no use keeping it back. "It's about Michael Altman. He's dead."

"Yes. How did you know?" Clary's slowly nodded, the suspicion not easing. If anything, it seemed to have increased. "Mum… I thought you said you've walked away."

Jocelyn shrugged, hoping it gave her an air of mild curiosity. "And I have. I just… I heard Luke and Alaric talking about it and I was curious is all."

Clary scoffed. "Try again, mum."

"Okay, fine. I might have… taken a quick peek into the autopsy report just before they submitted it. His ammonia and zinc levels were a lot higher than normal." She met Clary's eyes. "I was curious. That's all."

Clary cocked her head and stared at her for a long moment, eyes scanning her face, probably looking for signs that she was lying to her. Jocelyn had to swallow a laugh. Clary was smart, way smarter than a lot of people gave her credit for. But the fact that Clary actually thought Jocelyn was going to give away her secrets and her thoughts was hilarious.

Finally, Clary nodded. "Yeah. He was… Simon's mark." She reached for the beaker and resumed mixing. "He got the request a week before the hit. The client asked if Simon had a poison that could make Mikey's death look like a heart attack. Something liquid, odorless, colourless, virtually impossible to detect; that would fall a full grown man in exactly twelve minutes." She nudged her chin in the direction of the shelves where she stocked the poisons she'd made. "That was when I remembered Dot's formula and made Simon one."

Shit!

"Why are you interested in how he died anyway?" Clary asked, sounding absentminded as she worked. Jocelyn gave her another five minutes, at which point she would be so far gone she would have zero idea that Jocelyn was still in the loft.

Not like Jocelyn minded. She'd gotten what she came here for anyway.

"Nothing really. Dot was just worried."

That brought Clary's head up.

"She was worried?"

Jocelyn nodded. "Yeah. She thought that maybe someone was copying her, putting her back on the NYPD's radar."

Clary shook her head and bit down on her lower lip as she carefully poured the red liquid she'd been mixing into the beaker, and set it to boil.

Jocelyn gagged at the stench: a mixture of rotting eggs and fish, and glared at Clary who chuckled. "The smell will be gone in a bit."

"So you say." She wrinkled her nose. "What does it do anyway? Besides knocking you on your ass when you get a whiff of it?"

Clary rolled her eyes, but then was up on her feet, vibrating in place as she explained her newest experiment with barely concealed glee. "It has the force to turn your innards into an instant mess of boiling soup." She grinned. "I call it Liquid Fire."

"Liquid Fire?"

"Yes. Seems fitting doesn't it?"

Jocelyn couldn't help it. She laughed, and laughed harder when Clary winked at her. Still laughing, she walked over to Clary, placed a soft kiss on her hair, mentally blamed Valentine for their daughter's blood lust and walked away, leaving her to her experiments.

Outside the loft, Jocelyn took the stairs, pulling out her phone to place a call to Dot. Dot picked up on the first ring. "Jocelyn."

"They asked for your poison Dot."

"Mine like they specifically requested for it by name?"

"No. Yours like they wanted a liquid poison that could never be detected."

Dot sighed. Jocelyn couldn't see her but he was fairly sure she was rubbing her forehead the way she always did when she was close to her limit and was willing everything within her to remain calm.

"That still doesn't mean anything Jocelyn," she murmured.

"True," Jocelyn agreed. "But only yours works with a twelve minutes time frame, and the client specifically requested for a poison that kicks in after twelve minutes."

"You sound like Simon when he's trying to convince us that his new harebrained idea will work."

Jocelyn winced. Trust Dot to pull out the knives and not hold back.

"Simon? Really?

"Yeah. Really," Dot replied.

"Fine, what did you learn?"

"Spoke to Cat when she got in last night. Apparently, Ragnor agreed to find out who Simon's client is. He's going to trace the wire."

"Nobody will be that careless," Jocelyn pointed.

Dot hummed, just as Jocelyn heard the door being opened, and the sound of Cat cheeringly greeting Dot filtered through the speakers, followed by kissing. Lots of it, if what she could hear was anything to go by.

Jocelyn smiled. "You know what, I'll stop by at Ragnor's. Find out what he knows so far and get back to you."

Dot made a laughing sound at something Cat said and Jocelyn took it as her clue.

She was still smiling when she pulled up in front of Ragnor's townhouse, half an hour later. But then Ragnor opened the door, with his lips pursed, one brow raised and his arms crossed and her smile dropped.

No other person wore their displeasure for the whole world to see like Ragnor did. Magnus might still smile at you, bidding his time until he could stick a knife in your back. But Ragnor, he was a viper, fangs instantly bared, ready to strike. No wonder he and Raphael got along splendidly.

"Jocelyn," Ragnor said, looking like he had half the mind to slam the door shut in her face. Thankfully he didn't. He waved her in, settling right back in front of the computer he'd set up in his living room, his workspace filled with several empty cups of coffee and a half empty tin of biscuits. He gestured to the coffeepot and the biscuit tin. "Help yourself."

She was half-tempted to turn him down, but something in his eyes had her reaching for the offered snacks. Half a cup of coffee later, she asked the one question that had had been burning up in her mind ever since she entered the townhouse. "Did I do something wrong?"

Ragnor let out an amused chuckle, although his eyes weren't laughing in the slightest. "You tell me. Did you do anything wrong?"

"I didn't come here to talk around in circles with you, Ragnor," she bit out, tampering down on the temper that she knew was moments away from spilling out. Cryptic wasn't what she'd signed up for when she'd volunteered to come find out what Ragnor knew.

"You didn't?" Ragnor asked, still looking amused. But then the amusement died, and he spoke with a hard edge. "Could have fooled me, especially considering you're here to ask about who it was that killed off Michael Altman."

She froze, her eyes darting to meet Ragnor who made no effort to hide his distrust. "You know?"

He nodded, fingers flying over the keyboard, long scripts running across the screen. "Of course. Everyone thinks you walked away, stepped out of the life and decided to live on the straight and narrow." He laughed, but this time around, the amusement made it to his eyes. "Delusional. The whole lot of them."

"You knew?" Her mind worked fast, trying to figure out when she might have given herself away and how long before Luke, Clary and the others found out.

Ragnor spun around on his seat, until he was staring at her. She could feel the cool air drifting in through the open windows, could hear the tick-tock of the massive grandfather clock that stood as a sentry beside the door. If she listened well enough, she was sure she could even hear her heartbeat.

Finally, Ragnor sighed and leaned back. "Your ex-husband was the head of a guild of assassins that dealt only with political assassinations. You were his second-in-command. Until he crossed the line. Tossed an African country into a bloody civil war that has so far claimed hundreds of thousands of lives, and is still going strong with no end in sight."

The words brought back so many memories. Memories she'd worked hard to keep buried for so long. Unearthed and digging into old scabs she thought had healed until Ragnor dug into them and ripped them open. She would have hated him, if she didn't know that he would fight to the death to protect her and her family.

Also, he was right.

"But that wasn't enough for him. He actively started drawing up plans, kills he orchestrated that would toss peaceful countries into total chaos. The best way to move the amount of heavy artillery and weapons he'd amassed was to supply them to once peaceful countries, now bathed in blood. It wasn't what you wanted. You signed up for getting rid of despots and dictators, not destroying the very fabric of society."

Jocelyn felt cool fingers beneath her chin, urging her to look up into Ragnor's brown eyes. Strange. She hadn't even known when her eyes turned to the floor.

"And then you did the one thing that set you above us all. The bravest thing really." He smiled, softly, and Jocelyn found herself returning the smile. "You bailed. Killed Valentine. Took your daughter and ran."

She closed her eyes. She could still see it. The moment she'd confronted Valentine and he'd gleefully talked about unleashing anarchy on the world, and being the one in control. The one with the weapons to destroy it all, he'd gleefully cackled. She hadn't known when she'd pulled out the gun, held it low so he wouldn't see her coming, and then pulled the trigger. The fire hadn't been part of the plan. If it had been, she would have grabbed Jonathan as well.

She shook off the thought. Refusing to go down that path. She'd lost her husband and her son in one afternoon. And although she would never mourn Valentine, she would always, always mourn her son.

"You've lost too much. Sacrificed too much to sit back calmly and let someone else continue Valentine's legacy. Of course you will want to keep an eye on things from the shadows." Ragnor's lips quirked to the side. "I am right, aren’t I?"

"Yes."

Ragnor let out a sharp bark of laughter, shaking his head as he cupped the side of his face with his open palm and stared at Jocelyn. His eyes hardened. "So why are you lying to everyone? To Luke? Clary? Are we all just idiots you've been using as pawns to further your agenda?"

"No, it's not—"

Ragnor scoffed. "Spare me. I know what you're going to say. You don't want to involve us. You don't want to put any of us in danger. You don't want to pull us into a fight that isn't ours."

He made a mockery of all her fears. The words pulling at her, tearing at her in every which way, digging in into her vital parts, proving that he was as adept with cutting down with words as he was with a knife.

"You infantilize us all. Take away our chance to make a conscious decision to help or not help. You call us friends—"

Now it was her turn to scoff. "Come on Ragnor. We're not friends. I have ten years on you and Magnus. Also, I don't have that history with you all. I'm only a member of the group by extension. Because Clary's my daughter, because I'm married to Luke, because Dot is my best friend. It doesn't mean we're fri—"

Ragnor's eyes blazed. "Finish that thought. I dare you." He sniffed. "Putting up with you because of Clary, Luke and Dot indeed. Like any of us hung out with Camille when Magnus was dating her cheating, manipulative, psychotic, lying ass."

"But—"

"There is no but in this," Ragnor hissed. "You might not think of us as friends, but we see you as a friend. And yet, you treat us like strangers. Hiding the truth. Hiding what you know about who the enemy is. Leaving us disadvantaged instead of us working together and strategizing about the best way to take them down. Because you and I know," he leaned forward, bracing both hands on the armrest of his couch, "that whatever this is, it will eventually rain down on us all." He sneered. "You must be really blind if you think that we won't be caught in whatever whirlwind mess has been sweeping through the guilds in the last few months."

Jocelyn's eyes widened and her breath whooshed out. "You know?"

Ragnor stared back at her like she was missing a couple of marbles. "Entire guilds are getting wiped out Jocelyn. Of course I know, and I'm sure they will soon figure it out as well. But we would have wasted precious time because you just wouldn't share it. So fixated on letting everyone else think that you've changed and walked away."

"I'm sorry," she murmured.

Ragnor nodded and reached for a pen. He tore out a post it note, scribbled something on it, and then passed her the note. She looked down at it, at the name and number written on it. Jeremy Pontmercy.

"That's who I traced the wire transfer to. Name doesn't ring any bells, so I will keep digging. I am sure I will be able to find the connection."

She held the post-it between her index and middle finger, "Thank you Ragnor."

He nodded and she walked around his workstation and headed to the door. Just as she pulled it open, his voice stopped her. "If you're truly sorry, tell them the truth. All of it." She turned around and met his eyes. "Or I will tell them myself."

She nodded, turned around and left.

"Silence in the library!"

The hissed words brought everyone's attention to the head librarian and to Simon who she was shushing.

Simon looked up from his prone position on the floor, where he'd fallen after falling asleep mid-studying. An assortment of textbooks and notebooks were all around him. Obviously, they'd made the fall with him, which probably explained why the librarian was looking at him like she was considering filleting him and hanging him out to dry.

He held both hands up in a silent apology until she huffed and turned away. Breathing a sigh of relief he turned back to gather his books, pausing when his phone beeped.

Dinner. 8. Do not be late, Simon.

Rebecca was back at it again. How the hell she believed he needed to be reminded a million and one times about making it to dinner, he would never know. That's what he got for forgetting about one dinner with the family. Just one. He rolled his eyes and made to put the phone in his back pocket when it beeped again. This one, was from his mother.

I'm setting a plate for you at 8. Make sure you're there.

He sighed. Especially because seconds after her message, his bubbie Helen's message came in.

It's been too long Simon. See you at dinner tonight.

Keeping his fingers crossed that that would be the last set of messages he was going to be getting from his family, he reached upwards, dropped his phone on the desk, and then went back to gathering his books. Until his hands bumped into someone else's.

"I'm sor—"

He looked up into Jace's smiling face, and found himself instinctively returning it.

"Hey," Jace murmured.

Simon licked his lip. "Hey."

"You know, when you told me you were busy with an assignment for school, I thought you were just looking for a way to get rid of me." He rose; hands filled with the remaining books Simon hadn't been able to get to and he carefully placed them on the desk.

"I wish," Simon sighed as he gestured at all the texts. "I've been postponing this for weeks. But it's due tomorrow and Professor Marks will have my head if I don't mail it to him before then." He looked up from his notes, hoping that Jace could read the regret in his eyes. "I'm sorry I had to cancel."

Jace shrugged out of his leather jacket, hung it over the next available chair and dragged it over to the table. The sound that ensued had Simon wincing. So much so that he wasn't even surprised when the head librarian stomped over to their table, glaring daggers at them. At least until Jace smiled sheepishly at her and mumbled an apology. She visibly swooned, mumbling something about there being no need for any apologies and Jace should make himself comfortable. Then she walked away, leaving Simon staring after her aghast.

He turned around to gape at Jace.

"What?"

Simon pointed back at the librarian. "She has never smiled at me like that before."

"Really?"

"And she most certainly hasn't ever told me that I don't need to apologize. If anything… He sent a glare in her direction. "She lives for me apologizing."

Jace chuckled, and picked up Simon's notes.

"I really am sorry about this," Simon said, gesturing at the library. "When I said we should go on a date, this… wasn't really what I had in mind."

Jace smirked and leaned forward, bracing both hands on the table as he stared up at Simon from under his lashes. "What did you have planned?"

Fuck!

Well, two can play this game.

Simon grinned back, rose and walked around the desk until he was standing right in front of Jace, their bodies a millimeter apart. He reached behind Jace for a book on the shelf and whispered against Jace's ear, taking special care to brush his lips against the lobe, feeling that hum of satisfaction when Jace shivered. "I was thinking, dinner, then a movie. There's an old film house down the corner. They only show classic eighties sci-fi. I was thinking back to the future, followed by Terminator. That would put us at about three to four am." He pulled back slightly, and now it was his turn to look up at Jace from underneath his lashes. "Then we would have followed it up with an early morning stroll in the park." He stopped, the hum turning into a thrill when Jace visibly swallowed.

"And then?"

"Then I would have walked you to your cab—" He trailed off and cocked his head. "Or do you have a car?"

Jace shook his head. "It's currently at the shop. So cabs for the next couple of weeks."

Simon nodded and continued. "I would have walked you to your cab." He leaned forward, until their breaths tangled, and he could almost hear every inhale and exhale Jace made. "And kissed you goodnight." He smirked. "Or rather, good morning."

Jace leaned forward, eyes fixated on Simon's lips. Simon stepped back, smiling as Jace glowered. He waved his textbook in Jace's face. "Unfortunately, I've got studying and writing to do, so no date night tonight."

Jace shook his head and sighed. "There's no problem with that." His eyes scanned the desk. "How can I help?"

Simon released a happy cry, unaware that he had done so, until some of the other students in the library, leveled glares his way. He mouthed his sorrys, pulled down more books from the shelves and plopped them in front of Jace. "I'm writing about the role the digital age plays in making my life as a practicing Jew in the United States easier and harder by degrees, so anything that would help with that. Studies, essays, research that has been carried out. Hell, it might be research done with regards to another religion, whatever might be helpful, I need it."

Jace hummed, grabbed one of the many notebooks that littered the table, and got to work. Simon stared across the table at him, his lips pulling into a smile at how focused Jace looked, scribbling out notes, his lips pursed, his forehead scrunched in thought as his eyes ran down the pages of the book he was skimming through.

The sight made him feel warm.

Later that night, as they left the library, Simon raised both hands, clasped his fingers together and stretched, feeling satisfaction as he felt the tightness in his shoulders release with a loud pop.

He grinned in relief, resisting the urge to burst into a happy laugh. After his reminder had gone off two days ago, in Magnus' loft, he'd just about lost his mind. His agreed deadline with Professor Mark drew closer, he hadn't written as much as a word hadn't even done his research. And he was sure that the good professor would have lost his mind if he had asked for an extension for the millionth time.

But now, here he was. Research done. Paper written. Paper sent. Oh, fuck it, who cared if he laughed. He released a low giggle, and smiled even wider when that pulled Jace's eyes to him. He winked, and felt a rush of satisfaction when that made Jace chuckle.

His phone dinged and Simon pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at it, he could guess at who it was that was texting him. Sure enough, it was a message from Professor Marks. Short, and concise.

Received.

Simon grinned. He was sure there were so many more things that the good professor wanted to say but didn't. The least of which was probably the man giving thanks to a higher power that Simon had finally sent in his long overdue paper.

His phone dinged again. And again.

Mum said to remind you about dinner. Damn it Simon. Text her back already so she doesn't keep making me do this.

He scoffed. Like he would choose to make anything easier for Rebecca.

He looked up to catch Jace's questioning look and shrugged. "It's probably my family. Mum made a big family dinner and they've been texting me all day to remind me to come over."

Jace nodded. "I get it. I haven't eaten a home cooked meal in forever." Now it was his turn to shrug. "Family dinners aren't really our thing."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I live with my brother and our baby sister. Neither of us cooks, so we always order takeout." He gave a low smile; something flickered in his eyes, too quick for Simon to catch. "We only get the family dinner when our… mum is in town. And she hasn't been around in years."

His expression shifted again. Turned sad, and just a bit wistful, and Simon found himself offering Jace comfort in the only way he knew how. He reached out, placing his hand against Jace's cheek.

Jace closed his eyes, and then opened them. His blue brown eyes deepening as he licked his lips. His eyes drifted down to Simon's lips and he leaned forward. Simon found himself leaning forward as well, his eyes drifting close as he waited for their lips to touch…

Only for his phone to beep. "Fucking hell!"

Jace laughed at the sworn expletive and Simon rolled his eyes, and then glanced at the newly received text.

I swear Simon, if you don't make it home tonight, I will have your head.

And then she ended it with a love mum and a kissy smiley face.

Simon shook his head and sighed. His family was weird.

He felt warm air brush against his neck for a brief second, before Jace burst out into loud uncontrolled guffaws. Simon spun around to look at him. Jace was practically doubled over, laughing his ass off. The sight had his lips twitching and he had to suppress the laughter that threatened to burst out. Of course, Jace had looked at his mother's text. He would have taken a peek as well, if he'd been in that position.

On a whim, he asked. "Want to come over for dinner?"

That stopped Jace mid-laugh and he cocked his head. A half smiling, half confused expression on his face.

Damn. That was too forward wasn't it? When would he ever learn that he couldn't just go about inviting men he'd only just met to come meet his family. Now Jace was probably wondering why he was moving so fast. Like come on. Only desperate dumbasses invited men they'd not even gone on one date with, to meet the family.

Simon opened his mouth to laugh it off as a joke when Jace shrugged. "Who am I to say no to a home cooked meal?"

The knot in his belly unfurled and Simon smiled. "Trust me, you wouldn't regret it. Mum makes a mean Rugelakh, and my bubbie Helen makes a Borscht to die for."

As Simon sat across the rest of his family at the dinner table, the rest of his family that were at the moment half fawning all over Jace who had brought out all the charms and the smiles, and what the fuck, how the hell didn't he know Jace Herondale had dimples? And the other half—namely Rebecca—glared at Jace like she was imagining stabbing him multiple times and then dropping his carcass in the middle of the ocean, Simon desperately wished someone would put a bullet in his head and put him out of his misery.

As Jace finished a childish anecdote about when he and his brother had gone rock climbing, unaware that their baby sister had followed them, only for her to get stuck on one of the heights and then refuse to come down, a situation that led to their mother grounding them for months, his mum and his bubbie Helen burst into laughter. Rebecca however rolled her eyes so hard, Simon was surprised that they still remained in their sockets.

He reached beneath the table and kicked at her foot. Hard.

Rebecca looked away from glaring at Jace to glaring at him.

What? She mouthed.

"Back off," he hissed, drawing the eyes of everyone else at the table to them, although he didn't really notice.

Rebecca looked at him like he'd lost his damn mind. "Dude, I'm your big sister."

Simon rolled his eyes. Tell him something he didn't know. Rebecca made sure she reminded him of her big sister status every chance she got.

"I have every right to screen your boyfriend."

Wait what? Boyfriend? Who said anything about a boyfriend?

Just as he made to clarify, Rebecca barreled on. "Especially considering the fact that he," she pointed at Jace who stared at the both of them like he'd got prime seats at the movie and didn't want to miss a bit of the action, "is the first boyfriend you've ever brought home."

Simon studiously avoided looking at Jace, all the while willing the floor to open up and swallow his sister whole.

Unfortunately, that didn't happen. Even worse, his mother added to his embarrassment as she turned to address Jace.

"We actually thought he was asexual or aromatic."

What the? Why was his mother acting like he wasn't sitting right there with them, privy to every embarrassing word they were sharing with his… boyfriend? Date? Guy he just met and really liked? Of course his family wanted to screw this up for him.

"But then, he mentioned a boyfriend, and then Rebecca accidentally walked in on him telling Clary about his 'plans' that night, and we realize he was neither ace nor aro." She slid him a glance, the mischief dancing in her eyes proof that she knew exactly what she was doing and wanted him to suffer for always keeping his private life, private. "Hell, he wasn't even demi. He just liked keeping his relationships separate from his family." She smirked at him, and then turned to Jace, her voice going from smug to apologetic. "I'm sorry if we're grilling you way too much for details about yourself. It's just, like Rebecca said, you're the first person he's ever brought home."

"What is Clary? Chopped liver?" Simon asked petulantly as he crossed his arms.

They ignored him. Jace shrugged as he addressed Elaine. "I get it. Plus, I am sure if I were to bring Simon to meet my family as well," his eyes slid over to Simon and he winked, then turned back to address Elaine, "they would have just as much questions to ask." He smiled. "It's how families show love. They meddle, and they ask a lot of questions, but it's only because they want the best for you."

Elaine and bubbie Helen all smiled and nodded in agreement. Rebecca though, continued to stare suspiciously at Jace and Simon kicked her under the table again.

She looked about ready to light into him when his phone rang. He glanced down at it. Clary.

"Sorry, I have to take this," he said as he excused himself from the table. He walked out of the living room, out through the door, until he was outside the house. Then, he picked up the call. "Hi, Fray."

"Simon," Clary said. He could just imagine her flopping onto her couch, legs hanging over the edge of it, with a smile on her face. "How did the studying go?"

"Fine, fine. Nice of you to ask now though," he said, a bit snidely.

Clary chuckled. "I wanted to call. But I figured you needed the peace and quiet to get the work done, so I resisted calling." Her voice dropped and she whined. "Do you know how hard it was to not call?"

Simon chuckled. "I am sure it was," he conceded. "But I was able to send my paper in, just in time, so thank you for the restraint."

"Seriously?" Her voice perked up, and he could just picture her sitting up. "I knew you were determined to pull it off but I wasn't sure you actually would. How did you make it in time?"

He felt his cheeks heat up and he toed at a stone lodged deep in the dirt.

"Simon," Clary singsonged.

Simon sighed. "I had a little bit of help," he admitted. "From Jace."

"Jace?

"Jace Herondale."

Clary squealed. "Hold up. The blond haired god from the bookshop?"

Simon nodded. Then remembered that Clary couldn't see him. "Yeah. I asked him out on a date."

"Nice."

"Thank you. But, I couldn't make it because of the paper. So he met me at the library, and volunteered to help me get it done. And when we finished, I invited him over to dinner at the house."

"Hold up. House? As in your house?"

"Yeah."

"So, he's met with the family?"

"Yeah. And they love him. Except Rebecca."

"Yeah well, she's always been protective of you, There is nothing wrong with that," Clary pointed out. "But dinner with the family though. That’s some serious shit."

Simon walked over to the swing set his dad had built for him and Rebecca before he'd died. He sat down, the sounds of clanging chains lulling him into calm. "Tell me about it."

"You've never introduced any of the boys you've dated to your family," Clary said.

"So everyone has made sure to tell me," Simon muttered. "And Jace as well."

"Well, can you blame them?" Clary asked.

Simon shook his head. "Nah. But you know why." Clary made a sound that Simon took as her acquiescing to that point. "Everyone I've dated so far, have all been a part of our world. And I would do everything to make sure neither mum nor Rebecca nor bubbie Helen ever have to get involved with what we do. Hell, I don't want them to even catch a hint of it. They've already been more involved than I want them to anyway."

Clary hummed. He heard a slurping sound and smiled. She was probably gulping down on a bottle of wine as she listened to him talk. Some things never changed.

"And then, here comes this guy who is funny, and smart and gorgeous and who clearly likes my family, and they like him back." He thought about Rebecca. "Well, almost all of them." Clary snorted and Simon chuckled. "He's the real deal Clary. And then, like icing on the cake, he's a regular guy, with nothing connecting him to our way. He's perfect."

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean your two separate lives wouldn't collide at some point, Simon. No matter how hard you try to keep them apart, it will still happen."

She'd been saying that for quite a while now. "Maybe. But so far, they haven't collided yet, and that works for me. I will just keep holding them apart for as long as I can. Plus, as long as Jace isn't involved in the second part, I'm good." He stared into the distance, was silent for a moment before he murmured. "Or are you going to fault me for wanting just a little bit of normalcy."

Clary immediately objected. "Of course not!"

Simon smiled.

"Well, okay then. I'll leave you to get back to your part dinner with your family, part date." She laughed. "Gods, you know this is all confusing, right?"

Simon stuck out his tongue at her. He knew she couldn't see him, but he didn't care. Plus, he was sure she probably knew that that was what he was doing anyway. He pushed with his feet, and the swing started creaking as it moved him. "Go find yourself a girlfriend, Fray."

"Who said I don't have one?"

Simon skidded to a stop. "What?! Who is it?"

He could just picture her grin as she laughingly replied. "Not telling you."

"Fray—"

"But I can tell you, it's someone you know. Someone you know… very well."

"Oh no you don't, Fray. You cannot leave me hanging like that. I demand to know—"

All he heard was a tone. Fucking Clary Fray had hung up on him. He rolled his eyes. Like her hanging up could ever keep him from finding out everything she was trying to hide.

Just as he made up his mind to start calling everyone he knew to find out who Clary's new girlfriend was, he heard the screen door swing open. He turned around on the swing and caught sight of Jace walking out of the house to come meet him.

Jace took up his seat on the swing beside his and they swung for some minutes, the only thing to break the silence was the creaking sounds.

Simon made a mental note to oil them, the next morning.

"Thank you for dinner," he heard Jace say.

"I should be the one thanking you," Simon replied. When Jace raised a questioning brow, he clarified. "For putting up with my family and their inane questions."

Jace chuckled. "It's all good. Plus," his eyes drifted over to meet Simon's eyes. "I really do like your family. Even Rebecca." Simon snorted, and Jace grinned, but continued speaking. "I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that she eventually warms up to me."

Simon scoffed. "I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you. Rebecca can be quite tenacious if she decides she doesn't like you."

Jace shrugged. "And I can be quite tenacious with winning people over." He followed the cocky words with a knowing smirk and Simon laughed.

"Is that so?"

"Of course. Look at you for example. You started today believing that we wouldn't have our date. And now look at us," he gestured at the both of them, at the swings, at the full moon, the silence that surrounded them. "Looks like a date to me."

Simon nodded. The man had a point.

They sat in silence for a long while, moving back and forth on the swing, comfortable in the silence and in each other's presence, until the sound of a car pulling up broke it. Simon glanced at Jace.

"I called a cab."

Simon glanced down at his watch. Damn, it was past one in the morning already. The day really had flown by. He looked up from his watch and caught Jace's eye.

Jace smiled. "Thank your family for having me at dinner." He skidded the swing to a halt, rose, and brace himself on Simon's swing till it came to a halt. "Thank you for an amazing first date." He winked at Simon, brushed his fingers over Simon's lips and ambled over to the cab with the swagger of a man who knew he'd successfully turned Simon's brain to mush.

Fuck that.

Simon rose from the swing and strode after Jace, picking up pace so he caught Jace just before Jace could pull open the door. He spun him around, leaned forward and up and met his lips with his.

He felt Jace startle for a moment, but then he moaned, wrapped one arm around Simon's waist and the other around his neck and held him in place as they kissed. Slowly, lazily. Simon tasting the mixture of sour cream, pastry and chocolate that was Elaine's Rugelakh. They finally broke apart, Simon taking a quick moment to bite down on Jace's lower lip and then pulling apart. Satisfaction poured through him like warm whiskey at the way Jace's eyes flared.

He turned around and walked back to the house. The smile remained on his face for the rest of the meal, and followed him till he went to bed.

"Go Gretel!"

The shout had Maia turning briefly from making her customer a mimosa to laughing at the sight of Gretel who was currently on the mechanical bull, belting her heart out to Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On. She was singing in that off-key tune she reverted to every time she'd drunk way more than she'd planned to, and hiccupped her way through the song.

Then Gretel caught her eyes and shouted from her corner of the room, forehead scrunched up in thought, her eyes holding that confused glaze. She waved at Maia to get her attention, and then pointed at the bull. "It isn't moving."

Maia laughed and shook her head. "That's because you haven't switched it on, genius."

Gretel's mouth formed a silentmoue and she blinked owlishly at the bull. Even before she asked, Maia knew what her best friend was about to say. "How do I turn it on?"

She caught the attention of one of the bouncers: Taito, a big burly man with the body of a giant and the soul of a peace-loving monk. He was also Gretel's godfather, and his lips twitched like Maia had. Gretel might be one of the most deadly assassins in the city, but she couldn't hold her liquor for shit. Worse still, she didn't care. Friday night always found her at the Hunter's Moon, drunk off her ass and having a blast.

And whatever idiot thought he could take advantage of her, usually found themselves with a couple of broken ribs and broken fingers, courtesy Gretel, Maia and Taito.

Maia turned around, gave her customer an apologetic smile and finished building the mimosa. When it was ready, she passed it over to the customer who handed her quite the tip, considering it took her a while to make him his cocktail. She smiled her thanks and turned to serve a college student her order of a pina colada, when she heard Gretel's breezy attempt at Mario's You Should Let Me Love You. Maia laughed and went back to pouring drinks.

When she'd moved to NYC, she'd left so much behind, her old life something she could never return to. Coming to the city had been a chance to rebuild her life, regain all she'd lost, everything she'd never allowed herself to have. She'd set out in the city firm in the belief that she wasn't going to make any new friends, nor was she going to have anyone in her life that she would be invested in.

If life had taught her anything, it was that having someone in your life was a recipe for you setting yourself up for a world of hurt and heartbreak.

But then, Gretel and then Magnus and then Luke had walked into her life and changed that. They'd brought with them, their families and their friends and she found herself in a community, surrounded by people who loved her and who would kill for her, and she would do the same for them in return.

The door to the Hunter's Moon jingled open and Maia stopped mid-pour to stare. Speaking of someone she would willingly kill for, Isabelle Lightwood stepped into the bar, and Maia forgot how to breathe. Black hair spilling around her shoulders in waves, a bold red bodycon dress that stopped mid-thigh and accentuated that bombshell figure. Her eyes dark, her lips wet and red. She looked like a dream. Like some angelic being set out to tempt her and push her to forget every single rule she'd given herself, to stay away and keep herself and her heart protected.

Isabelle Lightwood had heartbreaker written all over her. And she knew it too as she walked over to the bar, throwing smiles and winks, laughing as the way parted before her like she had a divine staff and she was parting the red sea.

And then finally she was sliding onto the stool in front of Maia, head tilted slightly to the side as she smiled. "Hi Maia."

Gods, her voice.

"Isabelle," Maia murmured back. Her voice caught and Izzy caught that knowing look in her eyes. Maia cleared her throat and tried again. "Cocktail or straight."

Izzy leaned forward and her smile widened. "Let's make it cocktail tonight."

"Your usual?"

Izzy nodded. "A tall glass of frozen sangria margarita." She reached out, just as Maia turned around to make her the cocktail, fingers wrapping around Maia's wrist to stop her in her tracks. Maia looked down at the hand, and then at Izzy whose tongue flicked out to lick her lips and then she jerked her head at the bottle of tequila. "Make it three shots, instead of two." She sighed. "Heavens knows I need it."

"Why? What happened?" Maia asked as she bent low and grabbed the separate pitchers of sangria and margarita that she'd blended the minute her shift started, and then kept in the fridge.

You know, for someone who claims to want her distance and doesn't want to get involved in a relationship, you sure do look forward to seeing Isabelle Lightwood regularly.

She pushed back the thought as she placed the pitchers on the bar and started building the cocktail, humming and nodding as Izzy told her all about her day, totally oblivious to her effortless dance between English and Spanish as she ranted about her brothers, and just how dense they could be. The words made her smile, because as much as Izzy complained about her big brothers, her love still showed. Although it was always interlaced with frustration. But every time she talked about her baby brother—Max, Izzy had called him—it was all love.

She then brought up her work and Maia continue to nod, mind working fast as she poured another customer a negroni. She'd heard about Elise Singer. You'd have to be living under a rock not to know the multibillion dollar tycoon and her sudden passing almost a week prior. And you'd have to be a useless assassin not to know that contrary to what was being said on the news, Elise Singer hadn't suffered from a heart attack, she'd been poisoned. Which made things so much more interesting.

One, because the woman had been the stereotypical power obsessed, who believed everyone was out to kill her heiress, and so always walked around with a veritable militia to protect her. And yet, someone had gotten to her. And if Maia was to make a guess, she was about ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that it was one of the Lightwood siblings that did it. Her money was on Izzy though. Based on what had filtered to her, what with Magnus' interest in the eldest Lightwood sibling, Maia had her suspicions that the Singer death was more her MO. Alec Lightwood wasn't that subtle, and the middle Lightwood sibling, whose name nobody had been able to get because he changed it frequently, although there were whispers that he was called Jonathan Lightwood, also had an MO for being quite showy. Which meant, it was most likely Izzy. And Quite the impressive feat it was.

Two, her death had left a vacuum in her affairs and in the Ból syndicate which she had been in charge of since her father died. Of course, no one knew that the same woman who represented the one percent that owned the world's global economy, was also the face of NYC's seedy underbelly, and was the head of a group that worked way too closely with the Circle. Speaking of the Circle, between the Tsuris losing Michael, and Ból losing Elise, she was sure the remnants of the Circle must be chomping on their bits, curious as to who had it out for them.

Maia was also curious about the answer to that question. She wondered if maybe it was—

She jerked out of her thoughts when she felt warm, strangely calloused fingers brush against her cheeks, in a slow stroke. She took in a deep breath, trying to ignore the delicious tingles that danced across her spine with every stroke of Izzy's knowing fingers.

Finally, she looked up from the shaker in her hand to Izzy who leaned forward with a grin. "Finally. I've been trying to get your attention since like forever," she tsked. "Clearly, your mind is far away."

Maia hummed. "Yeah. Between working here, and helping out an old friend who has me running errands for him, and then going to school…" She trailed off as Izzy's eyes widened. Maia smirked. "What? Are you against bartenders getting their Masters' degrees?"

Izzy smiled. "You're amazing," she breathed, wonder and adoration soaking every syllable, causing Maia's heart to clench as Izzy's expression went from lustful; to awed. "I can't believe you're doing all of that at the same time. Working two jobs and still going to school."

Maia froze, mind working fast as she wondered how she'd given herself away. When did Izzy find out about—?

"Or is your errand running for your friend not really a full-time gig?"

The whiff of relief caught her out of left field, causing her to drop the shaker for a brief moment as she braced her hands on the bar. Gods that had been so close. She'd wondered if maybe Izzy had learned about her work as an assassin.

Maia shrugged in response. "What can I say? I'm wonder woman." She gave a smug grin, and released a soft 'oof' when Izzy leaned over, pulled her forward and kissed her.

Gods she tasted as good as she looked. Sweet and smooth, and slick with that hint of playfulness as her tongue danced, slid against Maia's and then danced away. Maia bit back her curse, tasted the smugness of Izzy's smile against her lips and curled her hands in Izzy's hair. It was her turn to hold on tight, as she sank in, fingers brushing against Izzy's neck, feeling hot satisfaction as Izzy shivered against her, drinking down her moans, welcoming the whimpers, turning them into groans.

She finally pulled back and broke the kiss, leaned forward to catch another quick taste of orange and lime and wine and Isabelle.

Distantly, she heard the sound of patrons cheering and rolled her eyes. Idiots who believe that they were kissing as some sort of entertainment for them. But then, one of them called out, "How about I take you both home. Show you a good time."

They broke the kiss, and turned as one to glare at him. "Go fuck yourself."

The guy sneered, rolled his eyes and stepped towards them. But then Taito got in the guy's way, crossed his arms and glared down. "The ladies advised that you go fuck yourself. So, get gone."

The guy looked like he was debating talking back. But he glanced up at Taito, reconsidered with a shake of his head and walked away and out of the bar.

Maia smiled and turned her attention back to Izzy who was staring at her with a dazed expression in her eyes as she licked her lips. Maia smirked. She reached out to tuck an errand strand behind Izzy's ear, her smirk growing into a wide grin when Izzy released an involuntary shiver.

Maia licked her lips. "Well, that was unexpected." Izzy got enough of her composure back to raise a brow and Maia laughed. "I mean, I didn't think our first kiss was going to be at the bar at Hunter's Moon."

Izzy beamed. "I've been wanting to do that for so long."

Maia smiled right back. "Me to."

They leaned in for another kiss when a stringent voice cut through. "Maia!"

Maia turned around to glare at Ria—another bartender—who didn't look remotely sorry that she'd interrupted their kiss. "What?

"You need to move your car. You're locking someone in."

Maia nodded. Just as she reached beneath the bar for her car keys, Izzy gasped. "That reminds me," Izzy said and then dug in her bag until she pulled out a sheet of paper. "Someone left you this beneath my wipers. Probably thought my car was yours."

Maia laughed. "This is what we get for driving practically identical cars."

Izzy nodded. "Yup. The only thing that tells them apart is the wolf plushie at the backseat of yours."

"What can I say? I love wolves," Maia said with a laugh, and rolled her eyes when one of her customers did a sign of the cross. She poured the older man a Bloody Mary and watched him walk away, then turned back to look at Izzy who was staring back at her like she was the only person in the room.

Gods. She could live for this. The company of a gorgeous woman. Lots of laughter. Friends that had her back. A job she loved. A life she'd crafted all on her own. Free of the shackles of her past.

"Isabelle," she said softly, biting back a laugh when Izzy shook herself like her mind had wandered off in a daydream. "You said you had a letter for me," she reminded her.

"Ha, yeah," Izzy said and handed over the letter.

Maia accepted it with a smile, glanced down, and her smile vanished. She could feel her breath coming out shorter by the minute. Her hands started to shake. She recognized that handwriting, recognized the postage stamp, recognized the darkness that swarm in the corner of her eyes.

She needed to breathe. But she couldn't pull in any breath into her lungs. But then Izzy hit her in-between her shoulder blades and she took in a deep gulp of breath, feeling the air rush through her lungs.

Distantly, she heard Izzy's concerned voice, and tried waving her worries away. What was there to say anyway?

Jordan was coming for her.

"You know, after I finally placed that call, and you invited me over for our date, I'd thought, maybe, I don't know, a bar, a shooting range, maybe we would go play some pool."

Magnus grinned. "Go on."

"And then you'd said we were going to do something crazy, and I thought, ooh, skydiving! But grocery shopping?" Alec wrinkled his nose, and Magnus laughed. Then laughed harder when Alec joined him. Magnus reached for a fresh tomato, sniffed it, weighed it in his hands and then grabbed a couple and added it to his basket.

Alec tsked. "Definitely not what I'd been expecting."

Magnus reached around him for a cantaloupe and added it to his basket, taking a moment to stared at Alec, with his tousled hair, charming grin, and laughed when Alec's eyes closed in bliss as he bit into one of the strawberries from the basket.

Magnus snorted.

"Seriously," Alec insisted. He waved his hands vaguely. "I can't even remember the last time me or my siblings actually went grocery shopping. Our go-to has always been to order in." He grinned and shrugged. "Kind of expected, considering none of us can cook."

One of the farmers handed him a basket of mushrooms. He accepted them with a nod and a thank you, paid for them, and they continued their stroll through the farmer's market, picking up their conversation from where they'd left off. "I don't believe you though." When Alec looked questioningly at him, he added. "Everyone can cook. Even if it's just one meal."

"Obviously, you've never met my baby sister," Alec replied drily.

Magnus chuckled as he added the last bit of meat, fruits and vegetables to his basket. "I actually did consider us heading to a bar. My friend is a bartender at Hunter's Moon and it is quite the treat. Or, we could have gone to Del Posto, to have an actual date, without that whole Giovanni Ricci business in our face." Alec shrugged his shoulders; his expression confirming that he believed that would have been a much better idea. "But as much as I love to eat out, I also love to cook."

He heard a muffled sound and turned around to find Alec, sniffing at some peaches.

Magnus laughed, collected the fruit and added them to his basket. "Plus, my best friend's adopted daughter is coming over in a couple of days and Madzie can be quite picky about what she eats." He added some beetroot to the basket, talks of Madzie reminding him that he'd planned to make her an unusual desert when she came over.

"Madize?" Alec asked. "Pretty name."

Magnus nodded. "For a pretty girl."

Finally, he was done with his shopping, tallied up the final set of payments and started to haggle his way to a fair price. He felt warm eyes on him throughout, but refused to turn around, until he and the sellers had agreed on a price that suited them both, and then, whilst they set out bagging everything he'd bought, he finally turned around to meet the bemused expression on Alec's face.

"What is it?"

Alec shook his head. "Nothing. I just… I never thought I'd see the day."

Magnus raised a brow.

"The day I'd see the Highwarlock of Brooklyn grocery shopping."

Hearing the title he'd adopted back when he'd first started out as an assassin; a title he had eventually dropped for favour of his name, seeing that everyone knew his identity, so why bother hiding it, he cringed. "I haven't heard anyone call me that in, forever."

Alec winked and Magnus laughed. "Either way, consider this your chance to see beyond the legend to the man beneath it all, Alexander."

Alec looked contemplative for a moment, and Magnus held back the words. The one thing he'd always had to deal with were the other assassins who had only heard about his kills and his rise through the underworld. That had been the myth that they wanted, the myth they'd wanted to fuck. They knew nothing about who he was as a person. Didn't even care to know. He'd hoped Alec Lightwood, was different, but if all he wanted was a—.

"I love forward to it," Alec murmured, breaking Magnus' train of thought.

Good. Very good. Magnus stepped forward and dropped his voice low, so Alec had to strain to hear him. "You would also get to meet the Magnus Bane who makes the most delicious meat and mushroom lasagna you've ever tasted."

Alec looked doubtfully at him. "Is that so?"

"Yes."

Two hours later, they were back at the loft, and Magnus was stirring in the ground beef into the sauce. When it had crumbled well enough, he reduced the flame slightly, and began chopping more tomatoes. Magnus could feel Alec's eyes watching him as he added the chopped tomatoes, and stirred. He scooped some of the sauce, turned around till he was staring right at Alec and took a sip. Tomato, oregano, basil, pepper, fennel, mushrooms, onions, garlic and minced meat burst on his tongue, flooding his senses, and he moaned.

His eyes flicked up to Alec whose eyes alternated between the spoon Magnus still held and Magnus' lips. Magnus cocked his hips, and held out the spatula.

Alec scoffed. "I am sure it doesn't taste that good."

"Try it."

Alec stalked over, long strides quickly eating up the distance until he was standing right in front of Magnus. Magnus held out the spoon, Alec leaned forward, mouth opening wide, giving Magnus a brief glimpse of a pink tongue, before his lips closed over the spoon. He pulled away, slowly chewed, swallowed, and followed it with a moan.

Partially opened hazel eyes stared back at Magnus through hooded lids, and Magnus found himself asking. "Do you like it?" Fuck. When had his voice turned that gravely? He cleared his throat and tried again. "How does it taste."

Alec slowly licked his lips. "Delicious. It's making me hungry."

Magnus nodded and turned back to the stove. "It should be done in another hour. All that's left is to build the—." He turned around and was met with Alec's mouth on his.

The explosion was instantaneous. He heard a groan from afar, felt Alec's nails digging into his lower back, fingers scouring all over his body, feverishly seeking to touch, tongue and teeth clashing, their bodies straining, until Magnus cupped Alec's face with the palm of his hands, sank his fingers into his hair and ran them through the strands, gentling the kiss bit by bit, until Alec vibrated in place, and the kiss tempered from blazing inferno to a gentle heat.

He tasted tomato sauce and spice, peaches and apples, a bit of chocolate too. Everything Alexander had snacked on, on their trip to the market. But he also tasted Alec, that warm, intoxicating, potent taste that could only be Alexander Lightwood.

Magnus wrapped his hands around Alec's lips and lifted him up, swallowing down the whimper that accompanied it, giving a satisfied grunt when Alec in response, wrapped those long legs around Magnus' waist.

Walking slowly, all the while still kissing him, he walked them backwards, until they got to the counter, and then set Alec down. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed away the pans and the dishes around them, blind and deaf to the clatter they made as they crashed to the ground, focused on mapping every inch of Alec's mouth, tongue dipping in, and then out, chuckling against Alec's lips when Alec gave a frustrated growl at the teasing, and then yelping when Alec pinched him, then pulled his head down so they could continue kissing.

He kept one hand in Alec's hair, fingers running through the strands, his other hand making his way into Alec's pants, fingers working through the buttons fast, eager to get to the warm skin beneath it all, when he heard the sound of a throat being cleared.

He didn't think. Just reached for one of the butcher's knife, and sent it flying backwards, didn't even look back to see which of his friends couldn't respect his privacy and had waltzed right into his apartment again.

A satisfied thrill went through him as he heard the knife lodge itself in the wall by the door, and went back to kissing Alec, sinking back into the moment as fast as he could. Now it was Alec's fingers making their way to unbutton his jeans, fingers dancing close to the bulge of his dick and Magnus forgot how to breathe when—.

"Ragnor is dead."

Magnus froze. His heart stopped and his world bled white as he slowly lowered Alec to the ground and turned around to meet Raphael, mouth dry, fingers clammy as he hoped that it was all a joke, that he hadn't heard right. But then he saw the pain and devastation, plain as day on Raphael's face and his stomach dropped.

"What did you say?"

"Ragnor is dead." The pain flooded him again, even more so because he could read it reflected on Raphael's face. Pain and shock and denial and distress. But then the pain morphed into rage and Raphael pointed at Magnus, no beyond Magnus, at Alec. "And his brother's the one that killed him."