So for a few reasons, and with the help of Starrie_Wolf, I decided to rewrite Epilogue the Second.

This needed to be done. The original version was not consistent with the characterisations of either Runed!Magnus or Runed!Alec, nor with the Shadowhunter/Downworlder culture in this series, and had several problematic elements that, once they were pointed out to me, I was very unhappy with.

So here you go! This is the version that should be considered 'canon' for Runed, although I will be leaving the old version up because I have a soft spot for it, and I don't want to delete all the lovely comments you guys left on it. It is absolutely compulsory reading, not least because it contains very important information about Magnus' past. (For those who will wonder: yes, that has always been part of Runed!Magnus' character. It was originally going to be revealed around City of Blood, but I realised that it fit very well here, so now the reveal is here instead).

I hope you guys enjoy it :)

"Hey."

"Hey." Alec watched as Simon gingerly took a seat next to the bed. "Are you...are you okay?" he asked awkwardly.

Simon smiled. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He dropped his rucksack at his feet.

Alec shook his head. "I'm fine. The Silent Brothers are sending someone to check me over today, and then I'll finally be allowed out of bed." He tried not to stare. He wasn't sure who—what—he was looking at anymore. A few days ago he would have insisted that Simon was just a mundane playing at being a demon hunter.

But that was before he'd saved Alec's life, just as surely as Magnus had. That was before Simon had been the one to go after Jace, and save him, and bring him home.

"Izzy said you wanted to see me," Simon said, and Alec realised that he'd been staring after all. Simon was clearly uncomfortable. Was he worried that the longer this visit lasted, the higher the risk of seeing Jace? Or just self-conscious of his new scars? Alec had some vague idea that mundanes cared about stuff like that. "If she was wrong... I can go."

"No," Alec said quickly, "she wasn't. I asked her to tell you."

Simon looked at him. The light gleamed on his glasses, and his eyes were unreadable. "Why?"

"Because I had to say thank you." This, now—this was simple, simple and certain as stone. "You saved my parabatai, and the Cup. It's not in me to pretend that you didn't."

"And your life."

Alec blinked. "What?"

Simon was frowning; speculative, sharp. His gaze suddenly seemed piercing, like twin bolts from a crossbow. "I saved your life as well."

Alec nodded quickly. "You did," he agreed. "I'm grateful for that too. Thank you."

"That wasn't why I said it," Simon said dismissively. He was still watching Alec, like... "You only mentioned Jace and the Cup. In that order. Like you were rating them by order of importance."

Alec bristled. "Jace is more important than the Cup."

Simon just looked at him, raising his eyebrows sardonically, and Alec tried not to flush. Because of course Simon thought so too, had fought and killed and bled to prove it.

"I'm just wondering," Simon said softly, "why your life didn't even make it onto your list. Not even in third place."

Because it's not important. Alec didn't say it, but Simon nodded as if he had, as if something finally made sense.

That couldn't be true, though. Simon couldn't have figured it out. Alec had been keeping his secret from everyone who knew him since he was ten—his parents, his sister, even his parabatai. There was no way that Simon—who had entered their world not quite two weeks ago—could possibly have put the pieces together when no one else had.

"I'm grateful," he repeated firmly. "I think you're insane, Simon, and I don't know if I like you. But I respect you, and if—if you ever need my help, you only have to ask."

He saw Simon swallow hard. "Thank you," he said clumsily, the words like pebbles on his tongue. "I... Thanks, Alec." He cleared his throat. "I, um, I actually brought you something. I guess you don't need these now if they're letting you out of bed soon, but, I don't know—you should have them anyway."

He reached into his bag, bending over to hide his face and whatever was written there. When he straightened up, he had a pair of books in his hands, and his expression seemed more solid, less likely to fracture.

Alec accepted the books bemusedly, sitting up higher against the headboard so he could look them over. He quickly realised that they were arranged in the Eastern style, and turned them over: the cover was at the 'back', and the blurb at the 'front'. "They read right to left?"

Simon looked surprised. "Yeah—have you seen mangas before?"

"I have no idea what mangas are," Alec informed him.

"They're—well, these," Simon said as he flipped through them. "Kind of like comic books—which you don't know either, damn. Um, they're stories written in pictures, I guess, from Japan."

"They're not in Japanese," Alec said absently. The artwork was like nothing he'd ever seen before—he was used to the illustrations in his demonology manuscripts, anatomical and carefully coloured. Those pictures were focussed on accuracy, so that a Shadowhunter would be able to recognise the subject in the real world. These were different—pretty. Alec couldn't remember ever caring if something was pretty or not.

Jace wasn't pretty. He was beautiful.

He felt a pang of guilt for thinking that right next to Simon.

Who was staring at him. "You know Japanese?" he blurted.

How else was he supposed to read about ushi-oni or obake? The translations always missed things. "I can read it," Alec murmured, turning pages. "I don't speak it very well."

As he took in the pictures on the new page he froze, stunned. And then hurriedly snapped the book shut, jerking his head up to meet Simon's gaze. He could feel heat rising in his cheeks. "What...?"

Abruptly, Simon grinned. "Yeah. Crimson Spell is... I thought you might like it."

"Why would you...?" Alec glanced down at the (closed) books. Volumes 1 and 2 of Crimson Spell, whatever that meant, looked back at him. "What?"

"They're not instruction manuals or anything." Simon's voice had gentled a little: Alec couldn't look at him. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips where they touched the books. "And if a hot guy turns into a demon, you probably shouldn't have sex with him without asking. That's not very cool. But... The story's about a warrior and a wizard. So."

Alec's head snapped up. Simon was grinning. "Or a warrior and a warlock," Simon said lightly. "If you prefer."

Heat was rising into Alec's cheeks: he focussed hard on not looking over at the glass poppet on the bedside table. "What the hell are you implying?" he snapped.

Simon held his hands up in surrender. "Look—I know you maybe don't like me, and I'm not totally sure I like you either. But that's irrelevant. You like guys, and I don't think you have anybody else who knows about this stuff. Right?" He didn't wait for Alec to answer. "So...even if we don't like each other... You can always ask me questions. If you have any. I won't make fun or anything, I promise. But since you don't have the internet—I'm just guessing here, but considering how you guys don't even have a TV—if you have questions you can ask, okay? That's all I wanted to say."

Alec didn't answer for a moment, struggling with the urge to throw the books in Simon's face and order him to get out. Instead, he deliberately said the one thing sure to make Simon have a fit. "What's the internet?"

"You—you—" Simon spluttered. "Please tell me you're joking."

Alec shrugged, hiding a smile. "It's something like the akashic records, isn't it?" he asked deliberately vaguely.

"The what?"

Alec swiped his thumb over the cover of volume 2. "Could you do something for me?" he asked quickly, before he could lose his nerve.

"That probably depends..." Simon sounded wary.

"Could you get my phone?" Alec stubbornly kept his eyes on the books. "I'd ask Izzy, but..."

She'd never let me live it down.

Alec didn't have to look to know that Simon was smiling again. "I guess that's within my purview as Fairy Godmother," he drawled. "Emphasis on fairy. Sure. Just tell me where it is."

What did the fae have to do with it?

Simon only looked more nervous as Alec gave him directions to his room; his smile grew strained, but he didn't renege on his agreement, just promised to be back soon and left Alec to his own devices.

Afraid of seeing Jace?

Probably, Alec thought. And why not? Alec couldn't imagine what Simon was feeling right now. Alec didn't even know how he felt about it, the terrible revelation that Simon and Jace were brothers. When he'd first heard, his reaction had been relief: maybe now Jace would come to his senses and get over this strangely intense love affair.

But that relief had only lasted a few seconds, because Jace was bleeding. Oh, not on the outside—he'd passed through Renwicks without so much as a scratch. But that changed nothing. Jace's loss and misery bled through the parabatai bond every second of the day as if someone had stabbed him in the heart, and at night it only grew worse. The only times Jace felt anything sweet was in his dreams, but he barely slept; restless and troubled, and the horrible, crushing tragedy of waking up to reality every few hours tore Alec out of his own sleep and ripped his breath away.

No, the relief hadn't lasted long. Alec wished that they had never found out, wished that someone had cut Valentine's throat before he'd had time to spill forth his revelation like venom, or blood. Alec would rather see his parabatai with Simon than feel how much missing him hurt.

That was what real love meant.

He heard Simon's footsteps in the hall, quick and harried, but Simon relaxed as he stepped into the Infirmary, which was safely Jace-free. And Alec knew that he had to say something.

"Thanks," he told Simon as he accepted his phone. He flipped it open and closed as his stomach twisted into a knot. "Do you really think avoiding Jace will help?" he blurted.

Simon stiffened. "Excuse me?" He rubbed at his wrist, covered by his jacket sleeve. "I would have thought you, of all people, would have wanted me to stay away from him."

"I want Jace to be happy," Alec snapped. "He's my parabatai, but I can't shield him from this, and it's killing me." He bit his tongue. "It's killing him. He's just—hurting and hurting, and I don't know how to make it stop. I would do anything to make it stop. Anything. But there's nothing I can do. There's no rune to heal a broken heart, there's no spell—my world can't help him, do you understand?"

"Neither can mine." Simon looked at his hands. "Mundanes haven't figured out how to fix hearts either."

"You're not a mundane," Alec said. "I heard about Renwicks, Simon. And maybe you're not a Shadowhunter either, maybe you're standing on the line between—but maybe someone who straddles both worlds can do what the rest of us can't."

"And what's that?" Simon asked sharply. "Fix Jace? He's not broken."

Alec counted to ten. "No, he's not. But I can't help him. It's you he needs, so—do something."

"Like what?" Simon's eyes glittered, cold and fierce. "You think I should kiss it better?"

"Yes. No! I don't know." Alec didn't want to think about it, about what Jace and Simon had done together, what they still wanted to do. They were brothers, and Alec's heart still hurt from knowing that Jace had chosen someone else. "Just—do something. Reach out to him. Please. I'm not sure he can stand not having you in his life."

He didn't quite choke on the words. They were like glass shards in his throat, but he didn't choke.

Simon stared at him for a while. "I'm going to go," he said finally. Quietly. "Thanks for the talk, Alec. I really am glad you're okay." He stood up, swinging his bag over his shoulder. "You really should call Magnus, you know."

Alec breathed in deeply. "You really should call Jace," he parried.

Simon nodded slowly. "You're a good friend," he said softly.

And before Alec could ask him what he meant—a good friend to Jace, or to him, to Simon—Simon turned and vanished out the door.

)0(

A Brother Zachariah came to see Alec a few hours later, and after a scrutinising check-up gave Alec permission to get out of bed at last. Alec was only too happy to do so. Another day, and he would probably have set the damn cot on fire.

He wanted to go and find Jace, tell him about his talk with Simon. But Jace felt like concrete through their bond, hard and cold and unwelcoming, and Alec knew from years of experience that there was no talking Jace around when he was like this. He lashed out when he was hurt, as though he thought that pain somehow made him weak, vulnerable.

Maybe Valentine had taught him that. It seemed like the kind of senseless cruelty such a man would drum into a child.

Alec flipped his phone open. Closed. Hid the Crimson Spell books in the secret compartment in his closet. Flipped the phone open again.

He'd told Simon to reach out. Shouldn't he take his own advice?

Open. Closed.

Pause.

Open.

He dialled the number from memory and lifted the phone to his ear.

It only rang twice before it clicked as the call connected. "Magnus Bane."

In a burst of panic, Alec slammed the phone shut and flung it across the room. It landed on the bed, where it bounced once before going still.

His heart was racing. It was always calm and steady when he was hunting, but now his blood was roaring in his ears like a neades demon, until he thought his ribcage might split in two.

He made himself breathe deeply and calmly, waiting out the surge of adrenalin. Alright. Not the phone, then. It was better this way; he was a Shadowhunter, not a wordsmith. Jace might be able to talk gravity into letting him fly, but Alec was better with actions than words.

He would have this conversation face to face.

)0(

Alec was a strategist, but he had no experience with this kind of battlefield. He knew of no way to prepare: Jace had cheekbones like knives and eyes that took your breath away like a blow, but Alec had no weapons to sharpen or holster. So he waited until his pulse was smooth and regular again, and then he left.

On the subway, glamoured into invisibility in a nearly empty car, Alec had the sense of travelling deeper into the unknown, trespassing on some wild animal's territory. It was like and unlike the frission of awareness that came with entering another Shadowhunter's private space, but it was ridiculous: he couldn't breach Magnus' territory, because he'd always been in it.

There had been plenty of time to read while he was bedridden, and now he was all too aware of what he'd forgotten before: exactly what the title High Warlock actually meant. Did Jace know, Alec wondered? It had never come up in class; Alec had read about it for the first time in a scroll lying forgotten and dusty in the Institute's library, and the second time in a book of his own notes.

His injuries were still tender; Alec favoured them automatically but without tenderness, thinking hard. He had not been able to discover the meaning of the sigils on Magnus' lamen, but that might only be because he hadn't had the resources—every book he'd read while bedridden had had to be brought to him. Maybe, he thought, playing absent-mindedly with the wreath of beads wrapped around his wrist, he should have waited until he'd interpreted the lamen before taking this step...

But then it was his stop, and he didn't know what to do except get out and start walking.

The world seemed so empty: the street was completely deserted, despite the bright sunshine. Or maybe because of it? Warlocks usually preferred not to live surrounded by Downworlders, but maybe High Warlocks were different. Maybe Magnus had allowed a Downworlder neighbourhood to spring up around him—one that was sleeping away the daylight.

Or avoiding a lone Shadowhunter, Alec thought. He stared at the Magnus' buzzer for a moment, rubbing at his bracelet—before he breathed in deeply, made sure the beads were hidden under his sleeve, and pressed the button.

As with the phone, Magnus responded almost instantly. "WHO CALLS UPON THE HIGH WARLOCK?" his voice boomed.

Alec breathed in deeply. "Alec Lightwood."

There was a pause, a silence thick with surprise. But the only answer was the whining ping of the door being unlocked, and Alec pushed it open without waiting to see if Magnus would say anything more.

The stairs were dark and dusty. Alec tried to ignore the tension that reminded him of walking into a demon's lair.

It became much, much easier to do so when he reached the second floor, and found Magnus waiting for him.

The warlock was leaning against the doorframe, and it wasn't that he glittered and sparkled, because this time he didn't: instead of his loud, defiant party-clothes Magnus was dressed pretty normally. And yet he still shone. His skin glowed against his black t-shirt, and he might have just risen from a tryst; his feline eyes were hooded and sleepy, his black hair standing up in messy spikes that Alec wanted to touch, just to see if they were as soft as they looked. Whereas the dark blue jeans made his mouth go dry, hung so low, framing the sleek lines of Magnus' hips.

Alec caught himself wondering what those beautiful hipbones would feel like against his palms, and dropped his gaze hurriedly.

This must be what fairy fruit tasted like, once it was on your tongue: this sweet, breathless craving, and the utter surety that you were damned.

"Alexander Lightwood," Magnus said. There was the ghost of an accent there, or maybe many accents; a liquid ripple of sound whispering around the edges of the words. Silk and spice and hard, white sunlight. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

He was a Shadowhunter, and Magnus was no Abbadon. Alec put his fear away like a coat in warm weather. "I was hoping I could talk to you."

Magnus crossed his arms over the sequins spelling ONE MILLION DOLLARS on his shirt. His eyes gleamed in the dim light just like a cat's as they looked Alec up and down. "Well, all right then," he decided abruptly. Without another word he turned and vanished back into his apartment; after a beat, Alec followed him.

Magnus' home looked very different when it wasn't stuffed full of Downworlders. There seemed to be more space, and the bar and stage were gone. Instead the loft had been divided into several little areas by groupings of furniture. With a wave of his hand Magnus gestured for Alec to take a seat in the 'sitting room', and flung himself down on an ottoman before Alec could move.

Alec gingerly sat down on a velvet sofa whose golden softness tried to swallow him.

"Would you like some tea?" Magnus asked. It was hard to tell, but he seemed amused.

"No thank you," Alec said firmly. He had not come here for tea.

Magnus nodded while Alec was realising that turning down the drink had been a mistake: it would have given him something to do with his hands. "So," he said. "Why are you here?"

This was where Jace would have woven magic with his quicksilver tongue, and his grin, and the relaxed shape of his shoulders. But Jace wasn't here, and even if he had been, this wasn't the kind of fight Alec's parabatai could help him with. "I wanted to thank you," he said carefully. "For saving my life." Because not thinking it was important—as important as Jace, as the Mortal Cup—didn't mean that he was blind to the effort Magnus had put into saving it. Effort that Magnus had not needed to expend, but had anyway.

"You wanted to thank me," Magnus repeated. If he had been amused, he was no longer; he stared at Alec as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Yes." Alec really, really wished he had accepted the tea. "I was delirious, and then you were asleep, and then you were gone, and—I don't think I really thanked you. I know you didn't have to do it. So—thank you."

Magnus propped his head on one hand. As he moved, the hem of his shirt rode up over his stomach, and Alec's eyes dropped to the smooth skin before he could stop them. "You're...welcome?"

Alec looked away quickly. His fingers were trembling; he pushed his hands under his thighs, hiding them, but he wondered if Magnus could see the bullet-fire beat of his pulse at his throat. "And I had a question for you," he blurted. "About the poppet."

Magnus looked at him for—it felt like a long time. It probably wasn't, but it felt like it; Alec kept his gaze on the floor, unwilling to see the warlock's face, terrified of reading what might be written there.

"And what is your question, Shadowhunter?" Magnus asked at last. His voice was surprisingly gentle.

Could he see how petrified Alec was? Alec swallowed. "The catnip," he said hoarsely. He really wished he'd taken the tea; his throat felt too tight, dry as ashes. Every word was basalt between his lips. "In the poppet. What is it for?"

"Ah, that." Magnus flicked a bit of lint off the ottoman. "It has quite a few uses, actually. The leaves can be pressed and used as bookmarks in magical texts, if you can believe it—our books burn up most bookmarks like your Marks burn normal paper." He shrugged. "In spells—protection, healing, the summoning of luck—"

"I know all that," Alec broke in, and Magnus blinked, clearly surprised. Alec didn't blame him; he'd surprised himself, interrupting like that. "I just wanted to know if you meant it as part of a healing spell or a—a love charm."

Magnus said nothing for a moment. There was something complex going on behind those eyes, and he gazed at Alec now with speculative interest. "How does one of the Nephilim know about herbal magic?" he asked finally.

Alec shrugged. "I study."

"Your friend Jace said that you fall asleep in class."

"Because I'm studying when I'm supposed to be sleeping," Alec explained. "And I only sleep in history. I almost never need history."

"But you need herbal magic?" Magnus pounced. "How very...interesting. What else do you know, I wonder?"

Alec tried not to squirm in his seat. He didn't know how to feel about the way Magnus was looking at him—as if the warlock were seeing him for the first time, really seeing him. Why had he said that bit about the studying? Nobody knew that. Alec had never told anyone before. "I know what High Warlock means," he blurted.

Magnus smiled. "Do you?" The line of his lips was non-committal, indulgent—but his eyes were suddenly sharp.

And suddenly Alec remembered how the demons had fled in terror from Magnus, how the realm between had echoed with their screams as they burned. Abruptly he felt as though he were standing over a precipice—one far deeper and darker even than his real purpose for coming today. "It means a warlock who controls a nexus," he said carefully.

Magnus said nothing for a moment: he stared unblinkingly at Alec, and Alec had no idea what thoughts were passing behind those eyes, but they made him wish for a seraph blade. "Accurate enough," he said finally. "I wasn't aware the Nephilim paid such close attention to warlock affairs."

It sounded like a warning.

Alec shook his head. "They don't," he admitted. "We never covered it in class. I read about it on my own in an old scroll." He grimaced, remembering. "It took me a week to translate it. And I still have no idea what a nexus is."

Magnus grinned, and abruptly the shadow of tension in the room dissipated like mist in sunlight. "It's a place where two or more ley lines cross. And to answer your original question—I used both of those properties in your poppet's catnip, and a few more besides."

It took Alec a moment to remember: healing spell and love charm.

"But I didn't compel you, if that's what you're afraid of," Magnus continued. "Love spells—"

"—can't force or create love, yes, I know." He had never considered that Magnus might be trying to force or control him. Even if he hadn't known how the magic worked, he wouldn't have thought that.

Magnus' eyebrows rose higher. "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" But he didn't look unhappy about it. He looked interested.

Was that a good thing?

"You're correct, though," Magnus said. "Love spells can only call love to you, or encourage what's already there." He tilted his head. "You're really not what I expected," he said suddenly.

Alec blinked. "From a Shadowhunter?"

"Well, that too," Magnus allowed. "Most of you are pig-ignorant when it comes to magic. But I meant—not what I expected from a Lightwood."

"I didn't realise you knew my family."

"I've known your family for hundreds of years," Magnus said. "Now, your sister, she's a Lightwood. You—"

Alec's gut felt like a gorgon nest, and if he didn't say it now he would turn to stone. "She said you liked me."

Magnus paused. "Pardon?"

"Izzy." The snakes were writhing. Hissing. "My sister. She told me you liked me. Liked me, liked me."

"Liked you, liked you?" Magnus' grin slid across his face like honey.

"And I think Simon was trying to say it too," Alec said. Snakes. Snakes and wasps. "That you liked me. And that I should just tell you that I like you too, even though I'm not sure what to do about it, or how—how guys do it, or anything. But I'd like to find out. With you. If you want to." He took a deep breath. "Do you? Want to go out with me?"

Magnus blinked, that cat-like gesture of surprise that Alec already thought was, maybe, kind of adorable. It reminded him of Church, and even that tiny bit of familiarity made him feel a little better, a little safer.

Church had known that Alec liked boys before anyone else, and he'd never judged him for it.

Magnus sighed, and sat up on the ottoman. "Come here, Alec." He patted the cushion next to him.

"What—? I, uh, okay?" Except that his hands were still shaking, and Magnus hadn't actually answered him yet, which probably meant no, Magnus wasn't interested, and who could blame him, anyway, and Alec should just go, now, before this got any worse—

Magnus was looking at him. "It's all right," he said. His voice had gone terribly gentle again, and Alec couldn't make sense of the look in his eyes until he realised that they were undemanding, that there were no expectations or demands in them, and Alec felt so relieved and ashamed that he thought he might be sick.

He felt like a new-born colt, crossing the space between the sofas, and didn't so much sit on the ottoman as fall on it.

"Why do you want to go out with me?" Magnus asked.

Alec stared at the ground, his hands clasped as he tried to find the words—

Because you wear sequins and glitter and you're so brave, you don't care what anyone thinks of you and I want to be brave like that, I want to learn how to be brave like that. Because you do the right thing even when it's hard, even when you don't have to, you didn't have to save my life but you did it anyway and you were so strong, so beautiful, the demons ran from you and you kept the darkness away. Because I like your hands and your eyes and your hips and your hair, and thinking about touching you is like being hit by lightning but I don't want it to stop, and, I just—

"I just do," Alec said lamely. Wishing, not for the first time, that he could learn Jace's trick of dropping diamonds and pearls from his lips. But Alec's thoughts stubbornly remained tangled, useless straw, refusing to be spun into smooth gold. So he offered up the straw instead, not knowing what else to do. "And I thought you liked me, so you'd say yes, and I could try—" Could try getting over Jace, because he'll never be mine, not even now Simon's his brother; he'll never look at me and see and it hurts but I want, I want someone who looks at me and sees—

"I mean, we could try—" Raziel, he was making such a mess of this! He put his head in his hands, unable to meet Magnus' eyes any longer. "Maybe this was a mistake."

"Does anyone know you're gay?" Magnus asked gently.

Alec's head snapped up. For a wild moment, he nearly denied it all: but it was too late for that. "Izzy," he said. His voice was hoarse; his lungs felt tight. "And Simon, somehow." Not knowing how Simon had figured it out had given him nightmares. How had he slipped up, given himself away? What if his parents saw, or Jace? Even though Jace had—even though Jace wasn't straight anymore, the thought of his parabatai knowing brought a wave of cold terror with it.

"Not your parents? Not Jace?"

"No," Alec said sharply. Breathe, Lightwood, he told himself. "I don't want them to know."

"That's your decision," Magnus agreed. "You don't have to tell anyone you don't want to."

A little of the tension eased out of Alec's body, like hard steel suddenly turning molten and dripping away.

He was almost able to breathe by the time Magnus said, "My mother never knew I was a boy."

Alec's gaze jerked up from the floor, and he forgot to be nervous as he stared at Magnus' face. "What?"

Magnus shrugged. "She hanged herself when I was very young, before I learned the spells I needed." He saw Alec's confusion. "My body was born female," he explained—blithely, as though it were nothing. "When I was fourteen, I fixed it, but my mother was gone by then."

I fixed it. As if changing genders was of as much consequence as changing clothes.

Probably less, considering Magnus' outfits.

"Oh." Alec wasn't sure what to say. "I'm sorry. About your mother."

Magnus stared at him, and Alec wondered what was wrong, if maybe he shouldn't have said anything.

"Thank you," Magnus said after a beat. "You're awfully polite for a Shadowhunter, you know. It keeps surprising me." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Are you sure you wouldn't like a drink?"

"Yes," Alec said firmly. He'd learned from his mistake the first time. "That would be—nice. Thank you."

He thought Magnus would go over to the kitchen area, would pour water and turn on a kettle and give them both a break for a minute. Instead, there was a soft pop of displaced air, and suddenly Magnus was holding a paper cup of something steaming.

There was another on the table in front of Alec. In white text on a red circle, above a silhouette of coffee grounds, it said Costa Coffee.

"What is this?"

"It's coffee," Magnus said. "You know. Caffeine? Coffea Arabica? Do Nephilim not drink coffee? Because that would explain a great deal about your grumpy dispositions." His mouth grinned into the rim of his cup. "Present company excluded, of course."

Alec shot him a look. "I know what coffee is," he said wryly. "But I've never heard of Costa."

"That's because it's British. And, for the record, superior to Starbucks."

"But then how did you—wait."

Magnus' grin widened. "I can see the gears turning in his mind," he told no one in particular.

"Did you steal this coffee?" Alec demanded.

"You are adorable when scandalised," Magnus told him, "but no. I wouldn't dare!" he protested to Alec's suspicious expression. "Tessa would have my head if she caught me poaching. I put money in the cash register, I promise."

Alec frowned at him, but he was also trying not to laugh, and he picked up the coffee cup. When the taste smoothed over his tongue, he realised that Magnus had done that on purpose; broken the tension, made him laugh. He'd managed to give them a break after all.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Alec admitted quietly. He hunched over, resting his elbows on his knees. The warmth of the coffee seeped into his palms. "I'm sorry if I'm—if this is wrong."

"You're not doing anything wrong." Gentle, but firm. Alec took a sip of his drink so he wouldn't have to look up. "Alec, did you tell your sister, or did she figure it out for herself?"

"She just—she knew." The coffee seemed hotter, suddenly; hotter because Alec was colder, had turned to ice beneath the skin. "And Simon. I don't know how either of them found out."

"So I'm the first person you've actually told?" Magnus asked gently.

It was a pretty nice floor, Magnus' floor.

Alec nodded thickly.

"What made you want to tell me?"

Alec toyed with the plastic lid of his cup. "I found—last year, I found an old Codex in the library. At the Institute." He paused. "You know what the Codex is, right?"

"I do," Magnus said mildly.

"It was an old edition. Really old." Alec remembered the softness of the cover under his hands, the thin, brittle pages. "I mean, it was printed, but I think someone had made a printed copy of an even older manuscript."

"All right." There was no impatience in Magnus' voice, just a calm sort of waiting.

Alec swallowed. "I read it." Obviously, what a stupid thing to say, Magnus was going to think he was such an idiot—

"It said that the first agela was—they were gay," Alec blurted. "Or bi, maybe, most of them, I don't know." Like Simon. Like Jace, because Jace liked girls too, didn't he? He used to. Alec didn't know if his parabatai still did; there hadn't been a good moment to ask. "The Firstborn—Jonathan Shadowhunter, and David the Silent, and Peter Herondale—Thomas Wayland—Simon Morgenstern—"

He stopped, remembering that there was another Simon Morgenstern now.

Magnus waited.

Alec inhaled. "They teach us that Abigail Shadowhunter and the other women—" Margaret Fairchild, Eva Blackthorn, Helen Makepeace; there hadn't been many warrior women in western Europe when William the Conqueror landed in Britain, but there had been a few, "bound them into an agela. That the women were the parastathentes. And they were, but they weren't the only ones."

Jonathan and David had been parabatai—but at four in the morning, after a long night on patrol when he was meant to be sleeping, Alec had read that Jonathan was parastathentes not just to Margaret, but to Peter, too.

"So I thought—I thought maybe that meant it was okay." He had to force the words out around the lump in his throat. "Maybe. I—and Jace is, he was, so happy. I couldn't see how it could be wrong, when it made him so happy." He rubbed his hand over his eyes, his chest tight, a vise around his lungs. "But Jace and Simon are brothers, so it wasn't all right after all. And I'm not Jonathan Shadowhunter, I'm nobody, so—"

"You're not nobody." Swift as the slash of a knife; Alec froze at the fierce heat in Magnus' voice. "Whatever you do, whatever you believe—believe that. You are not nobody."

"I'm—" Alec's mouth was bone-dry; he raised his cup to his lips for something to do, something to cover the awful dagger of shame twisting in his ribcage. "It doesn't matter," he said when he'd swallowed his gulp of cooling coffee. He tried to make his tone dismissive, as smoothly blithe as Magnus had been talking of his past. "It—"

"Alec."

There was no disobeying that voice; Alec's head snapped up and found Magnus' eyes blazing, all jade and amber, the feline pupils narrowed to angry slashes of ink.

"Your sister went to pieces like a jigsaw puzzle when you were hurt," Magnus said. "She threatened to burn my apartment building to the ground if I didn't come and save you. Your parabatai refused to give your Silent Brothers the Mortal Cup unless they came and healed you. No one who inspires that much love is nobody, but even if you had no one, you would still be worth something to the world. You would still be the Shadowhunter who's ashamed of the Uprising and tells a warlock 'thank you'; you would still be able to recognise an obscure magical herb and understand love spells, which, for the record, I could count the Nephilim who know as much of magic as you do on the fingers of one hand and have fingers left over. You would still be the one who's uncovered one of the Clave's deepest secrets—yes, I know about Jonathan's agela, and I promise you don't know the half of it yet—and you would still be a young man brave enough to come here today and tell a stranger something that would get him killed at home."

The words struck Alec like stones. Killed. Magnus didn't try to downplay it, didn't say disinherited or exiled.

Killed.

Because he wouldn't be Alec anymore if he wasn't a Shadowhunter. And Magnus understood that.

"You are not nobody," Magnus said. "You are not nothing. You are alive. You have a soul. That's all you need to be priceless."

Priceless.

The logo on the coffee cup had grown blurry; Alec blinked, trying to clear his eyes and ignore the hot fist tight around his throat, and the sandpaper-rasp of each breath as that one word (priceless) tumbled down into the dark silence behind his heart like a gold coin fallen down a well with a wish, a wish bigger than a whole world—

His hand was shaking again; Alec carefully set the cup down on the coffee table before he could spill his drink, and it was as if he'd swallowed hot coals—

Priceless—

"You idiot Nephilim." Spoken so softly. Alec heard the dull sound of Magnus putting his own cup down. "Come here—"

"I'm sorry," Alec gasped, ducking his head—hiding the stupid, pathetic tears—"I'm, I'm fine—"

"Unless you have a problem with hugs, I am about to hug you, you unbelievable—"

A hand brushed his shoulder and something in Alec snapped like a bone; he flinched away from the touch and Magnus whipped his hand back instantly.

"I'm sorry," Magnus said, but Alec didn't want to hear it; as quickly as Magnus tried to apologise Alec realised there was no pain in the contact and sought it desperately. He was eighteen, an adult Shadowhunter Marked and sworn, but he turned into Magnus' warmth like something small and weak and felt himself broken open, felt himself breaking and bleeding and it was Abbadon all over again—

And Magnus drew out the poison. His hands and his soft, soothing voice cast just the same spell as before, and he called the venom out, black and awful, from Alec's eyes. It hurt just as much as it had the first time, all fire and ice raging in his lungs, and Alec clung to him, afraid of drowning, afraid of the dark, holding to Magnus as he used to hold Fenrir the wolf—

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he gasped into Magnus' shirt, shaking, bleeding salt and venom. "I'm s-sorry—"

"It's okay," Magnus whispered, his lips almost against Alec's hair. "Ssh, buah hatiku, ssh…"

It made no sense, but the softness made it worse, tore at some secret weakness in him and strengthened the storm of tears. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything so gentle, the last time he'd heard another person's heartbeat or felt the warmth of someone else's living skin. The only times Shadowhunters touched was to spar or heal and neither was like this, training with Jace wasn't like this; it was as if he'd been so cold for so long that he'd forgotten what warmth felt like, been left empty until he forgot what it was to be full and whole. Alec felt warm against Magnus' chest, and it hurt, it hurt so much worse than anything ever had, worse than Abbadon, some frostbitten core of him warming up and cracking alive and by the Angel, he never, ever wanted it to stop.

If he could just lie here with another person's arms to hold him, he would never want to move.

But eventually, he had to. Bit by bit the war under his skin eased enough for the real world to gradually return. The racking shudders slowed, then stopped altogether. Beneath his cheek, the warlock's shirt was soaked, and once he realised it Alec's stomach roiled with humiliation. By the Angel, what had he done—crying like an athumos at their first Mark—Raziel, his parents would be ashamed to claim him if they saw him like this; what Magnus must think of him…

He felt Magnus shift a little. "Feel better?" he asked quietly.

He would ask Alec to leave soon. After that, who could blame him? He would be polite about it, nice about it, but why would anyone want to keep someone like Alec around?

"Next time, do leave the Shadowhunters at home," Magnus told Simon. "Except for that one. He can come any time." He pointed a shining fingernail at Alec, and one gleaming cat-eye winked. "Call me?"

Magnus had probably just been trying to mess with the idiot Shadowhunters who'd nearly ruined his party, but…

Before he could talk himself out of it, Alec leaned up and pressed their lips together, because maybe this, maybe this could be enough to make Magnus want to keep him—

Magnus froze, the living warmth of him becoming mannequin-stiff against Alec's body; his hands were still around Alec's back and Alec's heart was pounding so hard it threatened to break, to shatter into an explosion of tiny shards. He had no idea what to do, wished he'd taken a proper look at the books Simon had given him; he was terrible at this, useless even at the thing which made him wrong—

Magnus' hands found Alec's shoulders—and pushed him away, not roughly, but unmistakably firmly. "What are you doing?"

Alec's mouth was dry. "I thought—I wanted to say sorry—"

"For what?" Before Alec could answer, comprehension swept across Magnus' face. "For crying?"

"I—"

"You kissed me as an apology?" Magnus looked appalled—and concerned. "Why would you do that?"

Alec didn't know how to answer. He looked down at his hands, sickened. His face was still damp, but beneath the tear-tracks his cheeks burned, humiliated and idiotic. "I wanted—" He stopped.

"Yes?" Magnus asked. "What did you want?"

Alec took a deep breath. "I wanted you to keep me," he said quickly, without looking up.

"And you thought—?" Suddenly Magnus paled. He rose abruptly, pushing Alec back into the sofa. "I'm going to be sick."

But Magnus didn't rush for the bathroom, wherever it was in his apartment. Instead he paced, frenetic and awful, thoughts flashing across his face too quickly for Alec to read. Alec curled into himself on the sofa, drawing his legs in close to his chest. He desperately wanted to leave the scene of this horrific embarrassment, but he didn't quite dare to try getting past the pacing warlock.

Who suddenly swung around and sank to his knees in front of Alec. Alec started, but didn't move, hooked by the fierce intensity in Magnus' face.

"Listen to me, Alec," Magnus said. "You don't ever have to trade sex for love. I don't know what the Nephilim are teaching their children these days, but you are worth far more than your body. You're ridiculously beautiful, I would be a liar if I claimed otherwise, but you could be bright green with horns and still deserve to be loved, just because you're you. You don't have to pay people to—to love you. Ever. Do you understand?" He smiled a little. "Your body is a gift you bestow on those who are damn well worthy of it. No one else."

Alec's mind was whirling. "You think I'm beautiful?" he blurted.

"Do they not have mirrors at the Institute?" Magnus demanded. "Of course I do. A blind Confucian would think you're pretty." He squinted at Alec. "Did you get anything else out of my little monologue?"

Alec was still sifting it for meaning, cataloguing and cross-indexing every premise. "I do think you're worthy of it, though," he said softly.

For a long moment, Magnus just stared at him. Then he sighed. "Alec… Do you even like me?"

A memory flashed, like the glint of light on a blade; Magnus' lamen shining like a star above Alec's sickbed, guiding him home through the pain.

"Yes," Alec said simply. "I like you."

Magnus' eyes flicked to his. Alec set his jaw and met Magnus' gaze without flinching. It was a hard gaze to hold: not because of the strangeness of the slitted pupils—they were beautiful—but because Magnus was looking at him with a complicated expression, some mixture of fond curiosity and intrigued puzzlement that sent nervous sparks through Alec's veins.

And something warmer. Other. Something harder to name, but that fizzed like champagne in the pit of his stomach.

Something white flashed in the corner of his vision and Alec's hand snapped to his hip for a knife that wasn't there. But it was only a cat, emerging from beneath the golden sofa with a soft, furry wiggle—only to immediately pretend that the warlock and guest hadn't seen the undignified manoeuvre. Gracefully, it hopped up from the floor onto the ottoman, and Alec relaxed as it began to purr, demandingly nudging its silky head under his hand until he found himself stroking it.

"Chairman Meow likes you," Magnus declared.

"I can see that." Carefully, Alec picked up the small cat; it purred even louder as he settled it in its lap. "I like him too."

For a while, the only sound was the Chairman's pleased rumbling. Magnus stayed on the floor, but Alec was able to bear it; he kept his gaze on the cat, and gradually felt himself relax into the rhythm of the petting. Church had him well-trained, and he knew just how to scratch and stroke to a cat's exacting standards.

"You kept it," Magnus said suddenly.

Alec looked up at him. "I'm sorry?"

Magnus nodded at Alec's wrist. Where Alec's sleeve had ridden up, a glint of gold and green was just visible around his wrist; the colours of the warlock's eyes—or a jade witch's ladder.

Embarrassed, Alec went to tug his sleeve down, but Magnus gently caught his hands. Alec felt the contact all the way up to his shoulders, searing up his throat. Magnus' fingers didn't have a Shadowhunter's calluses, and for an instant Alec wondered what they would feel like splayed against his skin.

"Do you want it back?" Alec asked. Magnus hadn't mentioned it in his note, but maybe he'd only forgotten.

"What? No, it's yours. It's no use to me now anyway; now it's keyed to you, it can't be used by anyone else." Magnus was still staring at it. "I just didn't think you'd keep it." He smiled a little. "But we've already established that I was wrong to assume you'd be anything like your parents."

You know my parents? As soon as the question formed, Alec swallowed it. He didn't want to think of his parents right now. They would be…he couldn't even imagine how they would react if they knew what he was doing, where he was. "I like wearing it," he said quietly.

The words failed so utterly to say what he meant that he nearly cringed. But how was he supposed to explain? I can touch the cool jade and know that it happened, that it was all real; the demons running from you and your voice in the dark, the light in the pain, the promise that it would be all right. You didn't know me at all and you gave up something beyond price for me.

You thought I was worth it and the proof is something I can touch and hold.

But Magnus nodded slowly, as if he'd heard what Alec meant instead of what he'd said. "I like that you want to wear it," he said, just as softly. And he smiled. "Alec Lightwood," he announced grandly, "I would most definitely like to know you better. Would you consent to going out with me on Friday?" He held up a hand. "Only say yes if you want to, not because you think you need to."

But Alec couldn't imagine anything he wanted more. "Friday… Like a date?" Elation was a golden bubble in his chest, swelling bigger and brighter by the second until he thought he might break open from something painfully like joy.

"No," Magnus said solemnly, and as Alec's heart sank; "not like a date, exactly a date. Friday night." The warlock's eyebrows rose questioningly. "If you're free?"

"I think so." Alec tried to keep his voice even, composed, but he could feel his lips pulling upward, curving irresistibly. If he wasn't careful, he would end up grinning like an idiot. "I'd like that."

Magnus beamed. "Excellent. I'll be looking forward to it." He started to get up. "I actually have work to do today, but you can stay a little longer if you don't want to head back yet."

He said it so simply, as if offering a strange Shadowhunter sanctuary on his couch was nothing. As if he understood how complicated such a thing as a home could be, how it felt when the only place you belonged didn't fit you at all, and automatically offered Alec a place to sit and breathe away from the pressure.

Alec desperately wanted to know how someone like this could exist. He wanted to understand Magnus the way he did his bow or his seraph blades; intrinsically, completely. Maybe then he would be able to breathe when those green-gold eyes met his.

"No, it's okay. Thanks, but I should get home." Alec raised his hand to bite his thumbnail, caught himself, then blurted, "Could we try kissing again?"

Magnus paused, half-off the floor.

"Never mind," Alec said quickly, unable to believe he'd actually said that aloud. "I'm sorry, forget it. I should go. I'll—"

"Alec," Magnus said, "stop."

Alec stopped.

Magnus settled back down on his knees and looked at him, and Alec suddenly wondered if Magnus wanted to take him apart, too, if he felt the same need to understand Alec's composite parts that Alec felt for him. "Do you actually want to," Magnus asked, "or do you feel like you have to offer to keep me interested?"

Alec swallowed. He glanced down at Chaiman Meow, who didn't care about the humans' conversation one bit so long as Alec kept petting him. Just like Church.

"Because I really don't think I can take you touching me because you think you have to," Magnus continued, and there was something brittle behind the blitheness, a note of terrible, chilling rage only barely contained. Alec could sense, or hear, somehow, just how fragile the door on that fury really was, and he thought again of how the demons had screamed.

"I'm sorry you're angry," Alec said carefully. "I didn't mean—"

Magnus made a dismissive gesture. "I'm not angry with you, Alec. I just—" He stopped. "Never mind. It's nothing."

It didn't sound like nothing. But it also sounded like it wasn't his business, so he didn't push.

"I don't think I have to," Alec said quietly. He couldn't imagine anyone treating touching Magnus like an obligation, like a chore. Like anything but something sacred. "I'd just… I'd really like to. If you want. If that's okay."

"It's very okay," Magnus said. The shadow faded from his eyes, melted away from the lines of his face. "And I'd very much like to, if that's what you want."

"Yes." Alec's voice had gone hoarse, and Magnus' agreement seemed to have worked some glorious alchemy on him, because the nerves in Alec's stomach were suddenly molten, liquid and warm, hot gold. Witchlight seared through him in a rush, lighting up every nerve, every cell, so that he was abruptly blindingly aware of every inch of his skin, his ankles and thighs and elbows—and his lips, his mouth, the palms of his hands.

He wanted to touch Magnus again so badly that it almost hurt.

Those gold eyes glittered, and some of it was amusement but some of it was sparks, fire, and Alec swallowed, felt his body draw tight and taut. He couldn't move as Magnus leaned forward to pick up the cat—whose disapproval was ignored by both humans—and set him on the floor, out of the way.

"Come here," Magnus said, and the soft husky edge of his voice shivered down Alec's spine. He went; not doing so was abruptly impossible. All of it seemed impossible; the nameless strangeness of being so close to another person, unfolding his legs and shifting forward so his knees were on either side of Magnus' hips, close enough to feel the warmth of living skin through Magnus' shirt; the sudden realisation that, even kneeling, Magnus was ever so slightly taller than him, which hardly ever happened; the jittering, wide-awake energy suddenly coursing through his body, lighting him up like the Manhattan skyline; Magnus' beauty, his velvet-sheathed muscles and his gleaming eyes and the smooth, lithe line of him that fit so achingly perfectly against Alec's body; and most of all the moment itself, the event of it, the finger tilting his chin to Magnus' face and Alec couldn't breathe.

"This is what you want?" Magnus murmured, satin-rough, and Alec nodded once because doing anything else could not be borne.

"Yes," he whispered, and Magnus closed the space between them and their lips met and they were kissing.

And it was strange, for a beat; he'd imagined this a thousand times but he hadn't known, he hadn't known, mouth to mouth and for a second it was just weird. (Who had invented kissing, anyway, who had first thought to press lips to lips, who had come up with that and why?) But Magnus' lips were soft, and the heat in the pit of Alec's belly burst into flame and something in him wept with relief, touch-starved and shaking and yes, yes, yes. He could hardly think, hardly dared to breathe because any moment now Magnus would realise that Alec wasn't good enough for him, was hopelessly incompetent at this—

Magnus' lips parted against Alec's, and for a moment there was warm breath that traced magma through Alec's core—and then Magnus' tongue slid into Alec's mouth, gently, softly and Alec groaned at the explosion of shocked heat and hunger. It swept through him like a desert wind and his hands fell against Magnus' waist, craving, starving, thrilling at the touch of bare, smooth skin. He splayed his fingers, drinking in the contact as Magnus jerked with surprise—but then relaxed, and Alec's hands moved up under Magnus' shirt, half-giddy with elation, awe, disbelief. This was allowed, he could do this, could touch, and his mind spun as he tried to control his hands and his tongue in the face of this incredible—

Magnus broke away, breathing hard. His eyes no longer reminded Alec of a cat, but of a dragon. "Are you all right?" he asked raggedly. "Do you want to stop?"

"By the Angel, why would I want to stop?" Alec asked without thinking, and Magnus' answering grin was incandescent—

Everything in him went weak as Magnus' fingers hooked in Alec's belt loops and tugged him closer, white-hot thrills racing through his veins; Magnus caught his lips again and Alec moaned, hips pressed into hips and the pressure-pleasure shot straight to his brain like the bolt of a crossbow. The world spun around him, melted into blurs of colour that could never compete with the lush stroking of Magnus' tongue against his, and he didn't know what to do, he wanted to reciprocate but couldn't bear to stop even for a second, even to breathe—

Before he could decide what to do the kiss broke, and an entirely involuntary noise of protest spilled from Alec's throat—almost a whimper, but there was no time for embarrassment because Magnus' lips were gliding over Alec's neck and Alec couldn't remember his own name. His hands flew from Magnus' torso to his hair, the leaf-charm from the witch's ladder falling forward and flashing gold as Alec's fingers tangled in the silky locks (they were soft, just as soft as they'd looked) desperately to urge him on; his whole body felt liquid and molten, every cell throbbing with pleasure, and when Magnus' teeth grazed lightly over his skin Alec pressed into him hard, biting his lip to swallow any more embarrassing sounds—

Just as Alec was about to use Raziel's name in some truly blasphemous ways, it all stopped. Magnus released him, gently tugging himself free of Alec's hold; the warm curve of his mouth and the amused hunger in his eyes had Alec rethinking an apology. Magnus didn't look annoyed at all.

"That—" Alec had no words. He felt dazed. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me." Dragon eyes, hot and hungry, and Alec's mind couldn't process someone looking at him like that but his body knew what it meant and smouldered. "That was no chore, Alexander."

In his mouth, Alec's name was velvet and smoke and silk sheets, and Alec swallowed hard, trying not to stare at the man's lips. "I'll see you Friday?" he asked. Through some miracle, his voice did not shake.

In answer Magnus leaned forward to kiss him again. His mouth was soft against Alec's, warm and alive and real, and he brought his hand up to cup Alec's face, cradling his jaw like—

Like something priceless—

It only lasted a moment; just long enough for Alec's pulse to melt into something approaching its normal tempo. But the warmth of it shivered down over his bones, wreathing them in sunlight and orchid vines, and when Magnus pulled away from him softly, so unspeakably gently, Alec's breath was caught in his throat like a moth in amber.

"Without question," Magnus murmured.

It was a tremendous effort to move—or rather, to move up and away from Magnus and towards the door; Alec wanted to fling himself at the warlock, wrap his arms around that lithe body and kiss and kiss until they both forgot how to breathe. A confused jumble of images from Simon's manga flashed through his head, exacerbating his embarrassment and his loud, pounding desire; by the Angel, he wanted to make Magnus say his name again, was sure he would light like a seraph blade in answer if he could only hear it from Magnus' lips one more time—

Magnus helped him up, and the curve of his lips as he escorted Alec to the door suggested that he knew the younger man's thoughts all too well. Alec was too busy weighing options and spinning thoughts like thread to be embarrassed—and when Magnus leaned against the wall next to the door, opening it with a wave of his hand and a glint of magic, Alec fisted a hand in the man's shirt and dragged him into another kiss. It was clumsy and unpractised but it tasted like lightning, fierce and urgent, and when Alec's palm found Magnus' chest he felt the warlock's heart stutter against his fingertips.

He broke off the kiss, and pulled back. It took effort not to lick his bruised, swollen lips, and not to lean in and taste Magnus' again. "Thank you," he said, and let Magnus go. He could feel a huge, bright grin stretching across his mouth, and couldn't figure out how to make it stop, even as he backed out into the landing. "For all of it."

Magnus shook his head, grinning as he crossed his arms over his now-wrinkled shirt. "You're welcome," he said. "Now shoo. I have work to do, and you're far too distracting."

He shut the door behind him, and Alec ran down the stairs two at a time with the leaf-charm shining like fire at his wrist, trying not to laugh, or scream, or sing.

Friday. It sounded like a spell.

It sounded like magic.

NOTES

Crimson Spell is a manga by Ayano Yamane

The akashic records are, to my understanding, a storehouse of all knowledge, or possibly all spiritual knowledge. It is reached through meditation and/or astral projection. In Runed, the akashic records are a warlock thing that may or may not come up over the course of the series.

Neades are ancient Greek monsters native to Samos (wherever that is), whose roar could split the earth.

Alec's thoughts about diamonds and pearls falling from his lips is a reference to the French fairytale Diamonds and Toads. The straw-into-gold line is obviously a Rumplestiltskin reference!

Buah hatiku—'my heart' in Indonesian. This is romantic, but nowadays it is apparently most often used to express affection for children, and that's really the sense in which Magnus is using it here.