A/N: Taking a little artistic license here (though not intentionally) with regard to the properties of yin fen. Since I haven't yet read The Infernal Devices, where it apparently originates, I'm just going off the TV show (which is a separate universe anyway) and giving it my own spin. Just heads up.

II. Queening

"Magnus, open up. Package delivery."

Recognizing the summons, the warlock crossed his apartment to answer.

On the other side of the door stood his most recent patient. Bearing his next, unconscious.

Magnus sighed. "Dear Izzy. I'd hoped I was wrong." To her would-be rescuer, he added, "Careful. Cross the threshold carrying her like that, and in some cultures you'd be married."

Heedless, the newcomer breezed past him and made a beeline to the nearest couch, where he unceremoniously dropped his cargo. Magnus frowned. "Well, then. I guess the honeymoon's over."

"My debt's repaid." The announcement was brusque, but not unexpected. "Though your choice of favors is, as always, peculiar."

"You know very well there's no debt between two old friends, Raphael." The door closed with a flourish of his hand, and Magnus joined his guest in the living room. "But if it makes you feel better to think of it that way, I won't quibble over semantics. I will thank you for getting her here safely, though."

A shrug, rippling across an immaculately pressed suit. "You provided the not-so-anonymous tip about vampire venom. And the sleeping draught—that was a nice touch, by the way. Shadowhunters are much more tolerable when they're compliant."

"Normally I wouldn't resort to such unseemly methods, but yin fen is extremely dangerous. Couldn't risk waiting. Plus, turnabout's fair play." Though he derived no pleasure from it whatsoever. "I suspected she wasn't being honest when I last spoke with her. What I didn't know," he added, darkly, "was how far off the path she'd strayed. How far down the rabbit hole this all goes."

"It was Victor Aldertree, Magnus. Her dealer."

"Aldertree?" The warlock was aghast. "The Head of the Institute? The one who—"

"Filleted my face for Intel on Camille? That's the one."

At the reminder, fury burrowed deep in Magnus's gut—even hotter than back then, without fear to temper it. "First he's torturing Downworlders," he thought aloud, "and now he's enslaving the minds of his own people? To what end?"

But his companion only shook his head. "You're the one with ties to the Shadowhunter community. I suggest you warn them what their boss is up to."

It was, perhaps, the last thing he expected to hear. "Why, Raphael, is that a hint of compassion I detect?"

"Sentimentality is your crutch, Magnus, not mine. To me, they're nothing more than brute soldiers. Cannon fodder."

Magnus sensed the unspoken. "And?"

"And I play for the long game." The vampire cut a glance to the slumped form beside them, and it didn't escape notice that his eyes were without hunger. "I don't know what Aldertree's endgame is, but I do know Valentine's. Death to our kind. There's a war coming. I don't care much for Nephilim—can't stand them most of the time—but we need every player on the board. Even pawns."

Oddly, the denouncement elicited a smile. "We're all pawns at one point or another, Raphael. How quickly you forget that even the lowliest one can rise to become queen. One just has to cross the board first."

Magnus watched his former protégé, whose face was awash with a slideshow of memories. History that made contradiction impossible. Guarded by a character that made concession improbable.

So it came as no surprise when the next move was towards the exit. "Well, when that happens, be sure and let Her Majesty know that I'll be in touch."

"What for?"

Raphael paused at the doorframe just long enough to toss over his shoulder: "That's another difference between us, Magnus. When someone owes me, I collect."

Then he disappeared into the night.

Isabelle awoke with a jerk, wincing as she sat up. She could feel every ray of sunlight stabbing through her eyes to the back of her skull. When the blindness slowly retreated, she looked around, hunting for clues.

Her surroundings had only just become clear when a voice at her side chirped, "Good morning, and welcome to Saint Magnus's Home for Wayward Shadowhunters, where freeloaders come for the lukewarm service and stay for the complete lack of housing alternatives."

"Magnus? What—?" She shook her head. "How did I get here?"

He rounded the corner of the couch and looked down at her. "A word to the wise? Don't accept drinks from strange men in seedy bars."

The implication dispelled the last of the fog in her brain, and her mouth fell open. "You had that vampire roofie me? Magnus, how could you?"

"I believe that's my line," he countered. "Considering your recent extracurricular activities, it's a bit late to claim the moral high ground. How long?"

Isabelle exhaled. Didn't bother pretending to misunderstand. "Over three days now."

"Not your last fix. I mean," he sidled closer, "how long have you been sneaking around like a common drug addict? Lying to everyone?"

She bristled at the accusation. "Look, it's not what you think. I just needed to take the edge off after I got wounded by the demon that attacked the Institute. But I'm fine now. It's fine. Under control."

"Enough. You've already lied to my face once." Her chin snapped up. It was the first time she had seen Magnus furious. "Don't me wrong, I'm used to lies. From most people, in fact. But not from you. And what's worse is you've made me an unwitting accomplice in your deception. I don't like keeping things from your brother, Isabelle. I can't imagine you do either."

"You're not going to tell him, are you?"

"And let you off the hook? Not a chance. Besides," he tacked on, "I can assure you, you have much bigger worries right now."

"Like what? Another lecture?" She rose from the couch, teetering slightly in last night's skyscraper heels. "What is this, anyway? Some kind of one-on-one intervention? Did everyone else forget to RSVP?"

"You're lucky Jace is off gallivanting with his current flavor of the hour, or else I imagine it would be a full house in here. As it is, you only have to deal with me for the moment."

But she was already marching past him. "I think I'll pass. I don't need—"

She stopped cold, just before the door. It wasn't until then that she understood the severity of her situation. The magnitude of her disadvantage. Hadn't even seen it coming. More than anything else, that ignorance scared her.

"Magnus," her voice was low, taut, "where the hell is my stele?"

"Nowhere you will find. Same goes for your whip. Don't worry, you'll get them back when this is over. Follow me," he bade her. "I have something to show you."

Isabelle seethed. With all the freedom of a rat in a maze, she trailed after him.

When she caught up, Magnus spoke again. "As I'm sure you've discovered on your own, your iratze rune is useless against yin fen. As is my magic. I did, however, give you something that should alleviate at least a fraction of the withdrawal symptoms. You're welcome. Ah. Here we are."

They halted at the end of the hall in front of an open doorway. Curious, Isabelle peaked inside.

Then looked back at her host, missing the point entirely. "It's just a guest room."

"It's your room," he corrected.

"My—what?"

Magnus rattled his knuckles against the solid doorframe. "Soundless. Impervious. Wards strong enough to contain a rampaging elephant. And with a touch of modern décor because, well, who says a makeshift panic room needs to look like a sanatorium?" Then his voice turned truly grim. "Only cure is to wait for the toxin to leave your system entirely. In other words, the only way out," he swept an arm past the threshold, "is in."

She couldn't help it. She laughed—a terrible sound that bordered on hysteria. "You're mad at me enough to take me prisoner?"

"Don't be dramatic, Isabelle. And don't deflect. There's no vendetta here, no conspiracy. I'm doing what needs to be done. For you."

"You're insane if you think I'll agree to this."

"You know, I was going to toss you in there while you were unconscious, but I decided to give you a choice. Either you reclaim your honor and your dignity and go in of your own volition… or I really will toss you in myself."

When he raised a hand, she glared at the ominous purple sparks dancing across his fingertips. "Yeah, some choice."

"Yes, well, we're a bit past the hand-holding stage. Straight to tough love, sweetheart."

"Love?" she sneered. "You're only doing this because I'm Alec's sister. You don't give a damn about me."

Magnus stared at her mildly, as though she were nothing more than an unruly pet in need of discipline. "If it helps, then by all means. Continue raging at me all you like. Again, nothing I'm not used to. Though I should warn you: You think you don't like me now, you're in for a rude awakening. These next few days will be… very unpleasant."

Days?

The verdict lanced her heart, short-circuited her nerves. A distant part of her knew she was in a no-win standoff.

But every instinct, every ounce of training refused to submit.

"Wait a second," she realized. "Max's Rune Ceremony. It's tonight."

"I know. Who do you think is throwing the party?"

"I have to be there for my brother, Magnus. My family—"

"Sorry," though he didn't sound the least bit apologetic. "But I'm afraid nothing in the world can spare you Maryse's wrath now. At least this way, you'll be spared the Clave's."

"Look, just—just let me attend the ceremony, and then I'll come back," she reasoned. "I'll come straight back and turn myself over to you. I promise."

"That's the yin fen talking." The warlock's hand fell, but the rest of him was utterly unmoved. "A charming devil, but the problem is I've learned not to trust it." Then he smiled. "But this is good. We've reached the bargaining stage. Progress."

"I'm strong enough," she argued. "I can make it through tonight. Just tonight, Magnus. Please."

"And now we've circled back to denial." Exhaustion chipped away at his marble countenance. "Look, this is happening. The sooner you accept that, the better… at least, you should be in seventy-two hours. Give or take."

"They'll never forgive me." Part threat, part plea, with the same effect as all the rest.

"Better to ask for forgiveness when you're you, Isabelle, and not the person you're in danger of becoming."

It was both the most horrible and most honest thing she'd gotten from him.

It was too much.

She didn't think. Just moved. Threw herself across the border between freedom and captivity. Between surrender and control. She hardly knew anymore which side was which.

Without looking back, she uttered, "Don't expect a thank you."

"I never do. That's the thing I've learned about helping people: They so very rarely thank you for it. I've made my peace with that. In time," compassion reached across the chasm, "I hope you find yours."

It gave her just enough strength to keep her head held high when the door closed, sealing her fate.

Because for that brief moment, she recalled a feeling more addictive, more powerful than any drug.

Fin

Queening—refers to a specific type of "pawn promotion" in chess where a pawn becomes a queen once it crosses the board and reaches the eighth rank i.e. the furthest point into opponent territory. [credit: chessburst dot com]

A/N: There you have it. Poor Izzy, I really put her through the ringer. Here's hoping she kicks this habit ASAP. And with that, I'm off to (finally) watch the new episode. Thanks for reading.