Winter Blooms (Alec Lightwood)

🗝 Chapter Twenty-Three 🗝

To be cryptic is something that Varian never truly  strives for, being accidentally  cryptic is something that happens at a consistent rate.

When he told Alec that he would not bring the sword back to the Institute, and that it was safe wherever it was, he was being entirely honest. But the voice that spoke did not feel like his own, and if he tried to think about where the sword was it came through as a half blurry image and the feeling of protection.

Alec sent him home, muttering about how much he loved him and to call him whenever he actually woke up.

That would be fine, if Varian could ever get to sleep.

To much was running through his head.

There was a feeling in the air, a major disturbance that Varian couldn't help but feel. He sat at his table in his kitchen, a map of New York City in front of him, and a marble rolling back and forth across. It stopped multiple times, before jumping suddenly to another part of the city.

Varian could see the colors once again.

All blues and blacks and yellows, covering the city in a light that brought hope back to him. There was so much more yellow than he remembered, the happiness of a city in love with simply existing was all that he wished he could concentrate on.

So much was still a question with getting his magic back. He could feel it thrumming to life just underneath his skin. Varian spent days just using it to do simple things, lighting the room when a lamp could easily do it. Pulling a cup of coffee from his shop down the street and into his hands.

But there are so many more questions in his mind.

The black bars on the backs of his hands wouldn't fade, despite the use of magic to attempt at covering it up, that sat dark as always on the backs of both of his hands.

His horns hadn't returned.

Well, Varian hadn't expected them to return, but he was hoping that the pulsing pain that seemed to always radiate from the stumps left behind would fade when his magic returned. Neither happened.

Alec had promised to be understanding in multiple ways, the first to make excuses to Herondale about the missing sword and swear that it was safe, and the second to give him some space for as long as he needed it.

But there was something so fleeting about the promise. As if Inspector Herondale would turn around and curse his name, every sound in the apartment kept him on edge, the fear that the Shadowhunter's would come knocking at his door with a warrant for his arrest helped to keep him awake.

A shiver ran down his back, and with a sure nod of his head, the Warlock stood. The magic running through his veins was familiar, and as he lifted his left hand out to the side, splaying the fingers and willing the transformation to come over him, Varian felt in control again. His usual Warlock regalia felt smooth on his skin, a comfort that brought the brightest of smiles to his face.

There was a piece of him that felt strange because of his use of magic.

Like he shouldn't anymore. But Varian stood firm, straightening out his coat and clapping his hands together in a way of clearing out the metaphorical cobwebs in his mind, the sound echoed loudly.

And then it was there, the same surge of power he had felt previously.

"Azazel." The name was supplied to him by a voice in his head that almost surely did not belong to Varian.

He turned, stalking towards the door and waving his hand to form a portal. Varian stepped through, calling his weapon to his hand as he went. He landed on solid ground, knees slightly bent and sword raised in the attack position.

The alleyway that he landed in was empty, save for the dead vampires that laid on the ground. A dark feeling of evil sat in the air, pressing into his chest and pulling the breath from his lungs. The demon that pulled him here was gone, and in its place the alleyway with reminders of the people that use to exist.

A necklace sat on the ground, out of place and familiar.

Varian lifted it into the air, noticing the cracked jewel in the middle of it and the left over essence of both Izzy Lightwood and his baba  on it.

"Varian?" The Warlock turned, smiling in an innocent way at both his baba  and his boyfriend looked at him with the red-yellow of frustration around them. "What are you doing here? You're suppose to be resting?"

It was his baba  who spoke, voice light but with an edge to it.

"I did." It was a lie, Varian hadn't slept since a few nights before. All of the events of the past few days were weighing on him and sleep couldn't seem to come easily. "I felt the demon call."

Alec stepped around Magnus, crossing the alleyway to Varian and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You still look tired V." His voice was just above a whisper, and he let his hand hover on Varian's waist for just a moment.

Varian shrugged, "I still am." He held up the necklace, watching as Alec shifted into the Shadowhunter that he knew so well, the color of dark blue concern surrounding him.

"Izzy." Alec's voice had an edge of frustration to it.

"There's something wrong with her." Varian spoke without thinking it through, reacting to how he remembered her being the past few times he had seen her. "Alec."

His boyfriend turned away, carding a hand through his hair and mumbling about how he promised Izzy that he wasn't going to tell anyone. "She's working on getting clean right now, from Yin Fen."

The name of the drug brought a feeling of dread through Varian's heart. "Oh gods." Varian muttered, his hand tightening around the necklace that he had in his hand. "And if Azazel-" Varian trailed off, the name sounding foreign on his tongue all of the sudden.

"We've got to get back to the Institute." Alec said it in finality, and Varian just nodded, motioning over his shoulder and forming a portal. Not missing the way that his baba  seemed to react to how flippant he was with forming the portal.

It felt as though it was all to much to discuss now, and would need to be spoken about on a later date.

Izzy is the priority.