Bloodlines: An Alec and Magnus (Malec) Fanfiction

Chapter 15

I walk back into the Infirmary to find Magnus towelling off his damp hair. He's wearing a shirt with the collar turned up – which he's painstakingly preventing his wet hair from dripping onto –, a velvet waistcoat, a pair of tight black jeans and some impossibly thick-soled creepers.

"Hey." I say, and he turns, rubbing the towel through his hair a final time and dropping it onto his bed.

"Hi, what were you doing?" he asks.

"Talking to Jace."

"Ah. Are you feeling better today?"

I nod. "I can feel the fear, like, here?" I say, with a hand to my temple. "But it'll be gone soon. It's way less intense than it was yesterday."

Magnus nods, going over to the mirror on the back wall and pulling bottles and tubs from his bag. He smoothes gel through his hair, sculpting it into glittery spikes. I stand behind him and tug gently on the back of his waistcoat.

"So, what's this? The ringmasters look?" I ask.

"Ha ha. You're just jealous." He replies, pushing a lock of hair that's fallen over his eyes back into place.

"Uh huh." I nod sarcastically. "Very. I'm going to the library. I'll see you later."

"Bye!" he calls, expertly lining his eyelids with dark, smudged kohl.

"Don't forget your top hat." I add, smirking over my shoulder.

"Don't act as if I don't have one to hand!" he retorts, with a wave of his eyeliner pencil.

I sit down in the library, on a sofa to myself in the back corner of the room. I look around the room, which is bathed in light from the big, high windows, and see several people I've come to recognise. Mark is sat, hunched over a desk, writing a letter – possibly to his father in Colorado. Jem and Tessa sit, curled close, Tessa's legs draped over his lap, and Jem's arms on her slim waist. I glance away and search the shelves from a book. I pull one from the shelf at random, not really minding what I read, and sink back onto the sofa to read 'A Whoops and a Bang: The Shadowhunter of the Modern Age'. I've only been reading for five minutes or so when I'm interrupted.

"Mr. Lightwood?"

I look up, confused. People only call my father that. Is he here?

"Urm, Mr. Lightwood, sir?"

I twist around and a young girl – maybe 15 – waves at me self-consciously. She has dark hair tugged into a messy bun, strands falling around her face, and wide brown eyes. She blinks and her long eyelashes flutter.

"Oh, sorry, did you mean me?" I ask, and she nods confusedly.

"Urm, yes?"

"Oh, sorry. Sit down." I say, and she does, slightly nervously.

"I'm Alec." I say, shaking her hand.

"Alyssa." She says. "I'm from the Milan Institute."

"Hi, Alyssa. Is this about us not having visited your Institute yet? Because I'll put it at the top of our list." I assure her.

"No, it isn't that." She says. "I...I wanted to talk to you."

At what point did I become the confidant for the entire Institute? Nevertheless...

"Of course, what's wrong?"

She reminds me a little of Izzy, though quite considerably shorter. She is staying here, and I feel somewhat responsible for her. She plays with the hem of her dress, rubbing the material between her finger and thumb, looking highly uncomfortable.