West of Words (Alec Lightwood)

🗝 Chapter Fifty-Two 🗝

Varian was, naturally, entirely unaware of everything going on with both his father and his boyfriend. His attention focused solely on the fact that it was raining, and he had no idea where he was going.

His sword had transformed into its miraged form of an umbrella without Varian using magic, and it was held above his head in his steady right hand, the left patting rhythmically on his thigh.

He'd been wandering for the past few hours, following an unseen trail left by those that worked with Valentine. There was a feeling in the air that Varian was entirely unable to place, as though everyone in New York had suddenly decided to hold their breath, despite the improbability of it.

Varian's shoulders rolled slightly, he'd taken a seat on a bench just beside the water way, his eyes scanning across the water in an attempt to notice anything even vaguely strange about the way the water moved. A ship as large as the freighter would leave some form of wake, despite however many Warlocks that Valentine had enslaved to keep the ship hidden, it was entirely impossible for something as large as that to disappear entirely in any setting.

He was barefooted, despite the fact that the rain and the pavement made his feet cold, he sat with them flat on the ground, little bursts of magic shot into the ground at even intervals. Varian was waiting for a sign, or more specifically the feeling of any of Valentine's men setting foot on land.

Then suddenly it was there, just on the edge of his magic, a small flicker of Valentine's new Shadowhunters.

Or more specifically, Valentine himself.

The barrier around his ship had faded, only slightly, but enough for Varian to catch hold of its location, his shoes forgotten by the bench as he stood and started towards the water.

Varian cannot swim.

The idea of having to cross the expanse of the river was one that entirely terrified him, an accident when he was a child was something that threw him for a loop any time he was near water.

Varian stepped off of the pier, his magic holding him just above the top of the water. With confidence that he did not realize he possessed, Varian took off running, one foot in front of the other as he kept his eyes trained on the ship.

He had three goals, the first was of course to get Jace off the ship. The second was to get every Downworlder and Mundane off in a timely manor, and the third was to get rid of the ship itself. Each was undoubtedly going to be a strain on his magic, but he had already solved that specific issue.

Despite Alec's near command of not forming a link with Valentine, Varian had already made the decision and prepared himself for what was to come.

Valentine's soul was an icky gross mess that mixed with Varian's in a threatening smog, but he was much stronger than the smog. In an almost cliche way Varian's soul was more like flowers and butterflies, the opposite of the father that he had never wanted, but much closer to his baba's (whose own soul was foxes, despite every statement he made to the opposite).

Varian almost crashed into the ship before catching himself seconds before. The buzz of the ward was not as strong as he would have thought, given his inference at how many Warlocks he thought were holding it up. A press of his hand to the ward, and a small pulse of lilac was all that it took to cause it to shiver, shake, before fading in such a way that Varian could slip in.

He took a deep breath as his magic brought him up the side of the ship, his hand catching a hold on the bottom rail. Varian let his magic fade as he held on, pulling himself to see through the rails, before clamoring over the top and coming to rest on his toes on the other side.