METANOIA ... a.lightwood (REWRITE)

chapter three; dead warlocks

THERE are warlocks everywhere.

Chris hasn't slept properly for a couple of days, stuck listening to the incessant whining of warlocks he hasn't seen in decades stuck together for the indefinite future. Elias, with horns and four short spikes on his bottom lip, falls down onto the couch beside Chris with a huff. Chris does not look up from the spellbook flipped open on his lap. He has read through it too many times. The words have ingrained themselves into his mind. The handwritten spells bounce around his head and no matter how many times he tries, none of the spells bring his sister back to him.

"Are you still looking through those spell books?" Elias asks, tutting. According to Magnus, he has been advising him since he became High Warlock here in Brooklyn. The past three days, he has done less advising and more pissing off Chris. "When will you give up? Your sister is most likely–"

"Do not," the words growl out of Chris. He does not look up from the book. He cannot face any of them with this rage that courses through him. He will always be his father's son and they will always shirk away from him. "Do not mention my sister unless it is to say she has been found, Elias."

The warlock sitting next to him huffs out another sigh and stands. His hand squeezes Chris' shoulder and then he disappears into the crowd of warlocks camping together to stay safe from Valentine's planned downfall of their species. Chris watches as he slides up beside Floretta Camp, whose lion's mane has been trimmed into a bob to appear more mundane, and they fill up their empty wine glasses at the same time.

The glittery-eyed, ring-adorned High Warlock appears behind him, making his presence known with the lightest of touches on his shoulder.

"Christopher."

"Magnus," warns the younger warlock, "it's Chris." Magnus takes the spellbook from his lap and closes it, throwing it behind him to slot into the bookcase full of spellbooks most warlocks have never had the privilege to read. Chris has studied them all. None of them have brought back Carrie.

Maybe Elias is right. Maybe he should give up. Maybe he should go back to Oxford, find his mother, and keep them both safe away from Valentine's clutches. And if Caroline is alive and he just gave up on her? If he could be the one to save her.

How can he just walk away from her?

He has turned his back on everyone he has ever loved. Forced himself to walk away. He cannot afford to stay when the slightest tug of his heartstrings sends him into cardiac arrest. All the love he has ever known has ended in death.

His first act of living was in death.

His first act of love was a death sentence.

He cannot walk away from Carrie.

"Yes, well, Chris. Come with me." Magnus nods his head over to the wide balcony doors. Chris follows him, away from the crowd of warlocks who always seem to be listening to everything. Secrets travel fast in the Downworld and warlocks love being at the hub of it all. Heads follow their movement, but Magnus is quick to turn them away with a flash of his cat eyes. They settle in the corner, where red brick meets red brick and cages them. Magnus, as quick as a blink, throws up a shield that blocks their voices from carrying around the room.

"I'm going to a party."

Chris stares, blankly, at the other warlock. There is glitter splattered across his eyelids, shimmering on his cheekbones. His dark hair is spiked with glittering silver gel and his shirt has sparkles sewn into every fold. He is dressed to party, but, then again, Magnus is always dressed to party.