Magnus: rain soaked through Alec's trench, through my skin, all the way down to my core, till I was numb and cold, but still the words of the letter in his pocket tore through me like a flicker of Izzy's whip. Rising flames were already licking the sky as dawn rose, when I wretched across the pavement by the side of the warehouse, and shakily got to my feet, hands still interwoven with my hair. After multiple deep breaths, the roar of my blood still hammering in my chest like a out of sync percussion band, I lowered my hands, looked at them. They were a mess of glitter, dirt sweat and tears, and an image of two laced hands; one with rings and sparkles, the other with chipped nails and black, inky, swirling lines, burned into my eyelids.
Two hands clinging to each other's warmth, two pairs of eyes seeing the world change, two lives intertwined forever. The vision sparked dramatically, blazing in front of my eyes before fading with what remained of my strength. Drained and lost, my feet seemed to be the first part of body to have some direction, and I didn't feel myself running until I soared out of the alleyway and the wind ripped through me like I was paper, as I took of through Brooklyn, sun seeping though the cracks of the skyline blood...
Alec: The icy looking man's smile was not unkind, but shivers ran through my spine, engulfing my body in a shocked numbness, as the last of the portal light bled through the kitchen wall, before disintegrating into nothingness... Much like a mortal life, I thought bitterly. He seemed to have barely registered me, taking in our simple kitchen with fascinated distance, but now his eyes, dancing with childlike amusement and curiosity came to rest squarely on me, his velvety eyes reading my pale blue ones. He really isn't anything like Magnus, I decided sourly, filled with a sudden, consuming rage at him, for suggesting this, and myself, for considering.
He sauntered up to me, and cupped my cheek in spidery fingers, his voice as velvety as his gaze;
"Ah, Alexander Gideon," his breath tickled my face and I resisted the urge to flinch away, "First of the known nephilim to have a relationship with a warlock. Are you surprised to know that the children of Lilith are none to pleased with you?" I kept my expression stony, but I felt the bitterness slither into my eyes. When I didn't answer, Malcolm smiled and carried on, relentless "You must know many of us believed you only wanted to sleep with Magnus, and not one of us expected your... Attraction to escalate as much as it has?" He spat the word 'attraction' out like it was poison on his tongue, a crack in his innocent manner. Anger bubbled up in my throat, and when I thought screams and cruel words would explode from my mouth, only tears erupted from my eyes, my expression still unreadable.
"And would what you're offering please you warlocks? Or did you come here just waste my time and piss off my husband. We both know he's not your biggest fan?"
"Well, I must say, I was told you were blunt. I didn't expect a knife with a square blade blunt." He picked up a salt shaker with mild interest, and without looking at me, carried on; "Yes I can offer you a chance to become immortal. But first, I wish to know, why a warlock? Why Magnus Bane?"
When I spoke my voice was a husky whisper, my vocal chords scraped and bruised with unsaid words;
"Everybody seems to spend theirs lives looking for someone to sleep with," Triumph was literally pouring out him, so convinced I was confessing to everything he accused me of-
"but I found someone I wanted to wake up with."
As quickly as the flash of rage crossed across his eyes, he composed himself, the bright, overhead light playing with shadows across his inhuman features.
"It was when your son was born, that I became inspired to study mortal and immortal live. Half nephilim, half warlock. Immortal, but a warrior. It got me thinking, that the soul is neither mortal nor is it immortal, but the body that has the ability to die or live. The blood. This is why vampires are immortal. They essentially have no soul, yet they always have blood, without it they cannot live." Simons face, bloodied, razor fangs cutting his lips, smiling down at my sister with so much love. He always had a soul I thought silently. "So after I slipped you that note, I began following your son, to see whether the half immortal was feelingless, and he led me right to the final piece of my experiment. A dying, mundane girl. Grace."
Then I remember. Max calling out in the cloaking darkness, calling out that name over and over as she slept restlessly, while I sat by his bed, Magnus' arms draped around me, but no comfort in them.
"We began meeting, and she swore by your angel she would not tell Max Raphael. She helped me realise that, in order to become immortal, the soul can be separated from the body through death, and the body will be given ageless blood...a warlocks blood, before the soul is placed back inside the now immortal body, and tah dah." He gazed at me smugly, like what he had said wasnt horrific.
"And you haven't even tested this? You are offering me immortality on the basis of some theory?" I countered, anger tinting my voice into an ugly yelp. The wind howled outside, shaking the apartments shutters, his smile as angelic and quietly powerful as the wind.
"Grace isn't going to live long. She's already agreed to let me try and save her. She says she wants to live. Very much. For your son. It is all that I am offering you, as well."
"You are offering to save me..." I breathed, realisation crashing and breaking over me like a wave, "but at what price?" His calm smile chilled me like frost bite.
"Your life, Alexander. You must die, to live."
3 hours and 37 minutes after the swirling portal closed after Malcolm, leaving me alone - not knowing where Magnus was - in my thoughts, the front door exploded open, and Max catapulted himself into my arms, sobbing, gasping, and in between, telling me how Grace
Starkey had died earlier that night.
Half my mind focused on stroking Max's inky, silky hair falling across his damp turquoise eyes, breathing comforting words. The other was on the vial of silver liquid, that Malcolm had given me before he disappeared into the whirlwind, bubbling furiously, hidden under the kitchen floorboards.
Half my mind was telling me that Grace had paid the price. Though it may have been for nothing.
Was I willing to gamble with my life, even if the prize was Magnus. Forever.
Was I willing to pay?