Bloodloss: An Alec and Magnus (Malec) Fanfiction

Chapter 17

The entrance to Central Park is filling up with Downworlders at a somewhat alarming rate. Within ten minutes of us arriving, both Luke and Raphael show up, with their pack and clan in tow. However, to my significant distress, Magnus isn’t here.

“Hey, you okay?”

I turn to see Indy.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I say, and then decide if I’m going to drag her here to fight a battle that isn’t really hers, I at least owe her the truth. “The High Warlock of Brooklyn is meant to be here. But he isn’t. We need him to win this. I need him to win this.”

She smiles, then glances over my shoulder.

“Well then, you’re in luck.” She says, and points behind me.

I turn, following her finger. Striding towards the gate, flanked by Catarina and a vacant man with white-blond hair, is Magnus, his hands sparking blue. The blue velvet tail of his coat flies behind him like a flag, the wind blowing the hair behind him and across his face.

“Magnus!” I call, and the sparks circling his hands flare as his cat eyes fall on me.

“Alexander!” he shouts back, starting to approach.

“Stop! The curse!” I remind him, and he stops abruptly, nodding. The other man – a warlock, I assume due to his purple eyes – walks into the back of Magnus, who has stopped sharply. Catarina rolls her eyes and waves at me.

We’re drawing quite a lot of attention, and Praetorians are glancing between me and the warlocks like they’re watching a game of tennis, watching the conversation unfold like it’s a TV show. I try to ignore it. I smile back at Catarina, feeling the evident relief wash over me, reassured by their presence. Finally, we’re ready to go save the Nephilim.

We continue through the park – me leading the Praetorians first, followed by the vampires (who seem jumpy despite the minimal light), with the werewolves and warlocks bringing up the rear - a strange procession of nearly a hundred Downworlders. Bared fangs, sparking hands, claws out.

As we approach the lake where the entrance to the Seelie Court is, I see Clary with her stele to a wall, opening up a portal. Crowded around her, watching her work, are a large group of shadowhunters. One of them turns and gasps. She says something to the shadowhunter beside her and he turns. My father.

He stares for a moment before composing himself and marching over to us. The shadowhunters are whispering and suddenly Izzy fights her way through to the front of the crowd, dragging Simon with her by the wrist, to see what’s going on. When she sees it’s just me, she relaxes. She smiles at me encouragingly and disappears back to Clary’s side.

My father comes over to me and I straighten my spine, lift my chin. I have nothing to be worried about, I remind myself. I have almost a hundred people behind me who would protect me in a second. This is just my father, just one person. I’m staring my father in the eye now, and I think I see a flash of uncertainty in them before. I suppose I’ve never been this empowered before, there’s too much riding on this to be my usual submissive and unconfident self.

“Alec, what is this?” he demands, gesturing to the crowd behind me.

“This is the key to the survival of all your shadowhunters.” I reply, my voice loud enough to be heard by everyone; downworlder and shadowhunter alike.

My father looks slightly shaken by this declaration, but proceeds regardless.

“We don’t need your help.” He informs me coldly. Shadowhunters are fuelled by pride; of course they won’t admit they need help from Downworlders.

“Look,” I tell him. “I understand that you think the Downworlders are somehow less than you. But they’re your only chance, and if you’re going to throw that away because you’re too stubborn to accept our help, that’s your problem. So you can either turn down our help and put everyone in grave danger, or you can swallow your pride and let us help you. Please, we came to help because…because I still care about the shadowhunters. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

He takes a deep breath. The Downworlders and shadowhunters are at least united in that no one from either party says a word, or even draws a breath in the silence.

“No.” my father declares. “Thank you, Alexander. But we don’t need your help.”

A clamour of protests ensues from both sides. Shadowhunters calling my father a fool, and Downworlders calling him a coward. I care about my father, but I have to agree. I’ve always thought him brave and smart, but right now he’s cowardly and foolish. But Isabelle isn’t, and Jace isn’t. And Clary and all the other shadowhunters aren’t. They can’t suffer because of this war, because they don’t have ample forces to protect themselves against the faeries.

“Too bad.” I call over the voices. “I’m not going to let your people be slaughtered because you are too narrow-minded and arrogant to let us fight beside you.”

I move past my father determinedly and grab Isabelle’s hand. She lets me take her and tug her into a run, completely trusting of what I’m doing and where I’m taking her. My father is calling after me, commanding me to stop this instant, but I don’t. I just run harder, my feet pounding down the grass of the park, my footfalls matched to the beat of Izzy’s, in perfect synchronisation. Too many years I’ve spent believing my father’s opinion was the be all and end all. But it isn’t. No one’s opinion is, except my own.

I can hear feet behind us, hundreds of feet, running in our wake, following us. Then, still clutching Izzy’s hand, I leap into the portal Clary opened in the wall, and let myself be engulfed by the swirling, watery surface.