Winter Blooms (Alec Lightwood)

🗝 Chapter Twenty-Five 🗝

"There's something different about you." Varian's baba spoke with a soft voice, watching as his son ever so carefully drew the summoning circle on the ground. His hands moving in perfect arches as the picture slowly formed.

Varian did not have a response, he felt the difference within himself. The strength that came from the return of his magic was something more than what he had even before all of this, and yet he could not find an explanation within him.

Magnus Bane could see the difference in his son, easily. He had, of course, raised him, watched him grow and become himself in terms of his magic.  When Varian lost his magic, it was hard for Magnus to watch, but now, the air around him seemed to curl in a way that made the young Warlock look like he was radiating all of the magic in the world.

"I'm not sure what you mean." Varian spoke, pausing ever so slightly as he looked down at the summoning circle. "I feel no different."

And there it was once again. Magnus looked his son up and down, hearing it in the way that his voice phrased words and muttered a simple spell with his eyes unwavering on the circle in front of him. He hummed in reply.

"Will you tell them it's ready baba?" Varian stood, rolling his shoulders and starting to work at the fingers on his hands.

The Institute had not given them permission to make the trade, and Varian could fully understand why. But that was not the plan. Both Varian and his baba  would work together to summon Azazel here, and once Azazel passed over Izzy, Clary would banish Azazel back to hell with her sun room. It was not a fool proof plan, that much was almost certain, but Varian had confidence in those that he trusted in.

A hand touched his, and Varian flinched, reacting in such a way without really thinking about it. He turned, his eyes finding that of his boyfriends, and he softened. "Hello darling." Varian muttered, stepping closer to him and standing on his toes to press a kiss to his lips. "Are we ready?" These words are spoken in a louder voice, directed to the entire group of people in the courtyard.

Valentine stands among them, a muzzle over his mouth and chains draping across his body. His eyes glare unwavering at Varian, the Warlock appears unphased, taking comfort in Alec's hand in his own, drawing from the strength shared in the connection.

They each take a point of the star, Varian stands directly across from his baba  nodding once ready and lifting his hands.

"We've got a half hour until people start to realize that Valentine is no longer in his cell." Jace issued the last warning, before tightening his grip on Valentine's arm and motioning for the pair of Warlocks to get on with is.

Both Varian and Magnus spoke in unison. "I call upon the power of the Pentagram. Azazel, I summon thee!"

Their magic began to swirl together, tornado force winds spinning together in the circle as it tried to pull Azazel into their current world. Varian fell silent, focusing on keeping the wards of the circle up rather than the call.

Magnus Bane spoke just as strong; "From within our realm, into this mystical confinement, I summon thee! You seek the Mortal Cup. We seek the return of a friend. For this exchange I summon thee!"

The winds died out, the dust settling, and in the circle of friends stood their enemy. Azazel in all his hellish glory, Varian kept his eyes trained on the ground, watching the leaflets of the mans demon energy poke and prod at the edge of the circle.

"Well, if it isn't Magnus Bane." He spoke with an accent, close to the one that Varian had. Azazel spun slowly, taking in each person standing on the edge of the pentagram with uninterested eyes, calling them each by name as if to prove the power that he so easily wielded. "Clary, Jace, Valentine Morgenstern, Alec, and Varian Bane. Quite the group."

Magnus spoke firmly, drawing Azazel's attention back to him as he did; "Return Isabelle Lightwood, and we'll hand over Valentine. He can lead you to the Mortal Cup."

Azazel looked tempted by the offer, turning on his heels and surveying the group. When he spoke it was not directly about the offer. "It is good to see you, Old Friend." The cryptic sentence was directed to Varian, who brought his eyes up from the ground to see who the Greater Demon was addressing, his face twisting as he realized that it was him.

"We've not met." There was just barely a strain in Varian's voice, most of his concentration rested on keeping the pentagram at full strength.

Azazel rolls his eyes, stepping forward and bumping into the ward. "Not you, you useless host, but you." There was emphasis on the last word, and Varian felt a change within him, as if something was twisting just below the surface of his skin.

"Enough." Alec spoke, his voice booming through the courtyard in a way that would have made Varian's knees week in any other circumstance. "Where is Isabelle Lightwood?"

Azazel shrugged, making the action look fluid as he continued to rotate. "I do not have her." The air around was gray, meaning that he was telling the truth, but that it was marred by the color of his aura.

Alec spoke quickly, nearly stepping forward but stopping when he remembered where he was. "He's lying."

Varian shook his head, moving his hands to re-affirm the words as he replied in a just barely strained voice. "He isn't. He is telling the truth."

The next moments passed quickly. Azazel attempted an attack on the wards just as they faltered, a rather dramatic crack appearing just as Jace shouted for Clary to do what she was here to do. Varian waited, watching the man's tendrils of hellish magic rippling out despite the man's uninterested appearance about the pentagram he was in.

The affects were almost immediate. Azazel pushed his magic through, bringing down the barrier and sending a pulse of painful energy into everyone standing in the courtyard. Varian started to shout, his hands reaching for his ears as he pressed the heels of his palms into them trying to block the screaming noise that Azazel forced into everyone's ears.

Azazel worked effortlessly, reaching Valentine but not taking him, before crossing to Varian and not taking him.

Varian's eyes fell shut, the face of Azazel above him, threatening words on his lips.

"A present for you, my dear Warlock."