A/N: No, Magnus is not related to Clary. The term "uncle" is used as a term of endearment like "godfather." Magnus turned that down cause it sounded weird. Yes, Malec will be in here. This is a what if scenario based mostly on the Shadowhunters TV show. Basically, what if Magnus played a more intrinsic role in Clary's life after taking her memories and Clary went with him instead of Jace, Alec, and Isabelle?

Chapter summary: In which Clary sees something she shouldn't, Jocelyn sends her away, and Magnus is a special uncle.

1: Why?

The music was heavy and thrummed through the body like pulsing blood in the dancers' veins. Lights flashed, flickered, and oscillated between bright and dim in the huge room. Fog covered the floor, disturbed by the movement of the many bodies occupying the space. A huge screen adorning the wall showed an impressive array of colors and designs changing with the rhythm.

To a first-timer, the sensory input could be overwhelming and sometimes disorienting. But not to her. She was too focused on the carnage scattered around her. Distantly she wondered if Simon was right and someone had indeed put something in her drink when she hadn't been looking, but another part of her was very aware that this wasn't a hallucination. This was reality. And it terrified her.

The strange boy she followed into this place was dancing to a deadly rhythm matched by another young man his direct opposite in appearance who matched him move for move. Where the first boy had blond hair cut and styled in such a way that many girls and guys would find attractive, the other boy had dark messy hair more like the woman joining their terrible dance.

The woman had long brown-black hair that gleamed perfectly as her lithe body moved and pulsed. Her outfit suited the rave atmosphere and had she taken this dance to the open floor, there was no doubt she could easily have the choice of anyone else out there. But what she chose to do with her moves heralded destruction.

It lasted no longer than half a minute, but in that time the witness watched seven people murdered in cold blood. Her eyes widened when she frantically glanced at the floor for the inevitable spray of blood and dismembered body parts and felt her stomach sink when she found none. The floor was dirty but no more than it had been before the massacre began. The warm metal in her grasp suddenly felt slippery in her palms.

She shuddered and stumbled back, raising the metal thing in her hands instinctually when something rushed her. The impact forced the metal into her gut knocking what little breath she still had out of her lungs forcing her to lurch forward. Her wide eyes caught the instant wicked inhuman eyes changed from hatred to surprise before vanishing in a burst of fire and ash.

Gasping hungrily, she slumped and noticed the softly glowing blade blossoming from the metal rod she still held clasped firmly, desperately, in her hands in confusion. Her mind stuttered as it tried to come to terms with what just happened. That thing... That thing, which looked so very human -but those jaws were most definitely not human- was gone. Dead, she realized. That thing was dead. She had killed it. She had killed it. She had killed it.

She was murderer.

That clear though jolted through her mind followed by a clatter as the metal, newly freed from her grasp, struck the ground, the glowing blade vanishing. A soft sob escaped her and she distantly realized she was hyperventilating. She hadn't noticed the vibrant sensations in the rave before, but now they hammered and clamored and threatened to engulf her.

She had to get out.

Now.

She couldn't remember the run out of the building, just snatches of color, noise, heat, and the desperate need to escape!

She didn't notice clutching her messenger bag still slung over her shoulder as she ran. She didn't notice Simon or Maureen calling her from the bar. She only thought of escape. Safe. She needed to get somewhere safe. Home. Mom. Home was safe. Mom was safe.

A dull yellow streaked by blaring its horn and she stopped abruptly at the edge of a huge intersection still bustling with traffic even at this late hour. She blinked and a taxi pulled up. She didn't bother to count her blessings, she just climbed in and her mind absolutely blanked.

"Honey? Honey what's wrong?"

Mom.

"Mom?" she breathed, blinking blindly.

"Honey, what happened? Are you okay? Clary talk to me," her mom said sternly, concern lacing every word.

Clary gulped. "I was at this party and these guys showed up and there were people but they weren't people and they turned to ashes and-"

"Ashes?" her mother murmured, her brow furrowed as she tried to follow her daughters word vomit.

"-these people had glowing swords and they were dancing and killing and oh god mom what's happening?!"

"Clary, Clary stop!" Her mom grabbed her shoulders and shook her forcing her to stop talking and gasp for air that she hadn't realized she needed. "These people with glowing swords, did they see you?"

Clary blinked at her mom in confusion. "What? Did they- Y-yes, the one guy did. Um," she swallowed, her parched throat aching, "why? Mom what's going on? Who were those people?"

"It's going to be okay," her mom said. "Dot!" she called, straightening and dragging Clary with her to the island in the center of their loft kitchen.

Clary looked over her shoulder to see Dorothea appear from dark hallway towards the bedrooms, a worried look on her face. Her face paled when she saw Clary. "Clary are you alright?" she asked.

"Not now, Dot," Clary's mom said firmly, jerking Dot's attention to her. "They found us."

All the color in Dot's dark face drained and she leapt into motion. "How?" she demanded.

"Who?" Clary asked, her attention bouncing between Dot and her mother. "Who're 'they'?"

"Clary, listen to me," her mom said, turning her daughter so their eyes met. "No matter what happens now, I need you to do exactly as I say, do you understand?"

Clary nodded. "Mom, what is going on?" she asked, panic clawing its way into her heart.

"Those people you saw are dangerous," her mom said. "I'm going to send you to Luke, okay? I need you to go directly to Luke, don't talk to anyone else."

"Jocelyn," Dot interrupted, handing Clary's mom a vial of something that gleamed a radioactive green. "Only if you need it," she warned, and then she whirled away.

Clary stared at the green liquid in disgust. "What is that?" she asked. None of this was making any sense.

"Nevermind that, Clary listen," Jocelyn said firmly, yanking Clary's attention back to her. "Tell Luke what you saw. If you can't find him, go to Uncle Magnus. Don't tell anyone else. Do you understand me?"

"I'll call Magnus," Dot called from somewhere behind Clary accompanied by something clattering to the floor.

"Uncle Magnus?" Clary mumbled. "What does Uncle Magnus have to do with this? Dot?"

"Clary!" Clary looked back up at her mom instantly. Jocelyn heaved a sigh and dug something out of her pocket. "Wear this," she commanded, spinning Clary around and tying whatever it was around Clary's neck, "and think of me when you do."

"Mom, now is not the time for birthday presents-"

"Dot!" Jocelyn called.

"I can't get a hold of Magnus," Dot said, holding her phone in frustration. She handed Jocelyn a small wrapped package.

"Don't worry, I'll tell him later. Open a portal to Luke," Jocelyn ordered, taking the package from her friend and thrusting into Clary's bag.

"Portal? Wha-?" Clary's voice died in her throat when a veil of glittering purple energy rippled into existence between two folding screen.

"Tell Luke what you saw and wait for me," Jocelyn said, pushing her daughter towards to the purple veil.

"No! No, Mom!" Clary cried, spinning and snagging her mother's sleeve halting her forward motion. "Mom, don't leave me. Please, please, don't leave me!"

Jocelyn's eyes glistened. "I'll be right behind you, Clary. Keep your stele with you and tell Luke."

Then Clary ceased to exist.

She burst back into reality in the familiar gray facility of the NYPD where Luke was based. It was after hours but she knew Luke was known to stay late at the office. She slid down the wall to the floor, shaking and rubbing her arms to encourage warmth the return to her limbs. She clutched her bag between her chest and her bent legs. This was insane. Her world was going topsy turvy and she had no idea how or why. No one would explain it to her.

She took the chance to catch her breath before pushing herself to her feet. She brushed herself off and composed herself as best she could and hurried around the corner to the steps leading to the bull pen where the police desks stood scattered around the open floor below. It took a moment to locate Luke's desk but she bit her tongue when she noticed the other two people standing by it talking to the detective. The silence of late night and the high ceiling allowed the voices to carry up to her. They were soft and she missed a few things but the general idea was clear. All too clear.

"...Jocelyn Fairchild was alive, we knew we could find you easily," the man said. "And here you are. You never could be too far from her."

"Fairchild?" Clary whispered, ducking down below the wall to hide in case anyone below bothered to look up.

"Jocelyn? What about her?" That was Luke, his distinct baritone reverberating in the room.

"The Circle has her," the man said. "...the daughter too."

Clary strained to hear the conversation without revealing herself, muttering a soft curse when she continued to miss phrases and words.

"...have them both if you give us the Mortal Cup," a female voice said. That must belong to the other person in the group. What the hell was a mortal cup?

"I don't care about either of them," Luke said slowly and clearly. "They mean nothing to me." Clary felt her heart stutter and drop to the floor as she listened. "Kill them both if you like," the detective continued. Clary shuddered, covering her mouth with her hands attempting to muffle her terrified whimpers.

"Well well," the man said, sounding mildly impressed. "Since when did your heart freeze over?"

"When Valentine came back," Luke replied coldly.

"No one said anything about Valentine," the woman said quickly, too quickly.

"You didn't have to," Luke snapped.

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor echoed in the large room and Clary stiffened, readying herself to run should she need to. She was tempted to run now, but she needed to know. Why? Why would Luke betray her? What about her Mom? What about what Captain Vargas said that day about Luke crushing on her mom? Was all that a ploy? Why?

Why? Why? Why?

"My people want the Cup," Luke continued. "When I get my hands on it, and I will, I'm keeping it. You can tell that bastard Valentine I said that."

"Listen to m-"

"No you listen to me," Luke snarled viciously. "Get out of my office. If I catch you anywhere near here again, I'll consider you a threat. And believe you me, we're not exactly known to take threats lightly."

There was a beat of silence followed by footsteps and Clary bolted as quickly and as quietly as she could. Luke betrayed them. Did they find her mom because of him? Did Luke tell them where to find her? Who were they? What was this 'cup' thing? None of it made sense. She had to get out. She couldn't be caught. Mom.

She pushed out the door into the night, momentarily dismayed by the pouring down rain but refusing to stop and bemoan yet another thing to go wrong tonight. Instead, she ran straight into the downpour and down the police station steps towards the well lit streets. New York was the City That Never Sleeps and she was simultaneously relieved by this as well as terrified. Crowds of people continued to stroll along the sidewalks, many with umbrellas and some without. She dodged from umbrella to umbrella before noticing a blinking crosswalk sign and rushing across the crosswalk as fast as her feet could carry her.

Her ankle twisted when she stepped in an unanticipated pothole but she recovered and kept running cursing her high heel sandals. They simply weren't made for running. She paused when she finally made it to the curb to rub the rainwater off her face to clear her vision. What did her mom say? Find Luke and if not him then-

"Uncle Magnus."

Magnus lived in a loft in Brooklyn over his Tarot shop. He kept unusual hours but then, he was an unusual and eccentric man. He enjoyed watching her draw and even paid her to draw the designs for his Tarot card deck once he saw her mother's set. Clary reached down into her bag and felt for her phone, her wallet, anything. She felt the distinct texture of her sketchbook and then her cellphone in the corner.

She pulled it out and scrolled to Magnus's number in her contacts as she began moving again. She had a destination now and she'd gone to Magnus's shop often enough, rain or shine, to remember the way. The dial tone burbled in her ear. She scrambled for her earphones from her pocket, plugging them in and sticking the right earbud in her ear so the microphone on the cord could easily pick up her voice.

"This had better be good," a voice dripping with sleep grumbled into her ear.

"Magnus!" Clary cried in relief, fighting back tears. "Oh god Magnus thank god."

"Clary?" Magnus asked sounding more awake now. "Is that you? What's going on? Why're you calling so late?"

"Something's happened," Clary said, picking up her pace as she neared her uncle's shop. "I don't know what's going on. Mom's freaking out and Luke betrayed us and oh god they're trying to kill me. Magnus I killed someone!"

"Slow down biscuit," Magnus said gently. "Catch your breath. Now tell me, where are you?"

"Almost to your shop," Clary answered. "I just turned the corner by that coffee shop you like."

"I'll meet you at the door," her uncle said. There was the sound of muffled scuffling and scratching as the mic on the other phone rubbed against something. "Are you alone?"

"Yes, I think so." Clary looked over shoulder and saw no one she recognized. "I just got to your door. Where are you?"

"Coming down now."

A light appeared from the back of the shop illuminating the tiny place through the windows. Clary pressed her face and hands against the locked glass door when Magnus stepped out of the hallway and into the dimly lit shop and rushed to the door. He snapped his fingers and door opened with a soft snick.

Clary didn't bother to question the small trick. She pushed the door open and flew into her uncle's arms. He embraced her briefly before pushing her aside to close and lock the shop door. Then he snatched her wrist and all but dragged her into the hallway, closing and locking that door behind them as well. Together, they hurried up the steps to his loft on the second floor above the shop.

"Now," Magnus said tugging Clary further into his home and away from the windowed wall facing the brick wall of the building on the other side of the alleyway behind the shop. He sat her down on a small futon currently oriented as a couch and settled next to her, holding her hands in his. "What happened? Tell me everything."

She did. She told him everything. She babbled and ended up dissolving into sobs somewhere along the way. When she finished talking, Magnus had pulled her into his arms and was rocking her gently like her mother used to do when she was younger. He said nothing, just held her while she cried. Finally, the stress and emotional turmoil from the night was allowed to catch up to her.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice raw from crying. "Where's my mom? I need to tell her about Luke. What's-"

"Hush biscuit," Magnus said gently, pushing her back so he could meet her eyes. He placed both hands on her face and held her head so she had no choice but to look at him. "This is not your fault," he said firmly. "You need to know that. You did nothing wrong."

"I killed someo-"

"Nothing wrong," Magnus repeated emphatically. He pushed a lock of sopping wet hair out of her face. "You're soaking wet. Let's get you warmed up and I'll explain as much as I can. Alright?"

Clary nodded vaguely, shivering as the cold brought on by fear, exhaustion, and the water still soaking her clothes and hair. "'Kay," she said.

She allowed Magnus to get up and grab a blanket from basket near a window but kept her eyes on him. A small, terrified part of her worried he would vanish too if she looked away. When he returned, he slung the blanket around her shoulders, scooping her hair out so it laid on top of it. He tucked the blanket securely around her and pulled her back against him.

"Clary," he said, his voice tense but still gentle. "What I'm about to tell you is something we've all kept from you for various reasons. All good ones, trust me, but still." He heaved a deep sigh and squeezed her. "Those people you saw, the Circle, they were hunting your mother. It's possible they didn't know you existed until tonight. But you need to know that... Clary, you're special. You always were in so many ways. But this is different. I'm special too. I- Oh bugger."

He sighed again and Clary imagined him rolling his eyes to heaven like he often did when searching for a way out of a situation. "This was never supposed to be my job," he groaned. "Alright, I'll be frank." He sat back so Clary could see him again. His face was tense and his eyes were concerned for her, but they were also afraid of her.

"What?" she asked. "What?" she asked again with a wry laugh when Magnus hestitated. "What could be worse than crazy people with glowing swords killing people and warping to the police station in a second?"

Magnus's face screwed up anxiously and Clary hesitated. Finally Magnus's shoulders drooped in surrender and he opened his mouth to speak. "Clary, I'm a wa-"

He was interrupted by the sound of glass breaking downstairs. Instantly, Magnus was on his feet and dragging Clary over to a dark corner of the loft. "They found us," he muttered. "We need to leave."

"Leave?" Clary parroted nervously. "Where?"

She stared as Magnus glanced at her for a moment in indecision before snapping his fingers and glowing orbs of smoky blue manifested in his hands. "Here," he said. He turned and waved his hands just like Dot had and the familiar veil of rippling purple light glowed on the wall where a doorway once stood. He turned back and held out his hand. "Please," he said. "I can keep you safe."

The sharp sound of something impacting wood startled Clary from her shock. She whirled to see the loft door shuddering on its hinges. Someone was trying to break it down. This was too much. Her head was going to burst. When a glowing sword pierced the thick wood, Magnus took the choice from her. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her through the veil with him. She fell back into his arms just in time to see the door break, then she was facing the rippling purple veil again. An instant later, the veil was gone, leaving behind a plain brick wall.

"I'm sorry," Magnus said, his voice full of regret. "I didn't want to tell you like this. Granted, none of this was supposed to happen in the first place."

Clary turned around slowly to stare at her uncle and caught sight of what was behind him and her eyes grew round.

"I'm a warlock, Clary," Magnus said. His eyes were a soothing gold and slitted like a cat's.

But, however beautiful and strange his eyes were, it was the people behind him that stole her attention. Specifically the young Indian man with two small horns on his forehead. "Oh," she said.

Her vision clouded. She had the brief sensation of falling then nothing.