☆★☆𝓡𝓸𝓫𝓫𝓲𝓮 ☆★☆

It opened on a page that had a tiny little totally harmless spell.

They shouldn't have even looked at it really, it was against the accords for a Shadowhunter to even have access to this kind of knowledge.

But that was the New York Institute for you — chaos, poor decision-making, and one broken coffee machine away from disaster.

Fortunately for them (or maybe unfortunately) it was exactly what they were looking for.

-

It had all started with a fairy acorn.

Not a metaphorical one. A literal, enchanted acorn had rolled across Clary’s bedroom floor one rainy morning, casually having fallen in through the window, as faerie threats often do.

In their experience, even being contacted by the faeries never meant anything good.

Definitely nothing that didn't come with a price.

And, as they have had their fair share of history with fairies that would probably haunt them forever, they also knew that this was nothing to ignore.

The message held a classic 'All shadowhunters are in danger and only our powers can save you' type of threat.

*“The past bleeds forward. The veil weakens. The demon returns. The cycle spins again. We offer warning, but not without price....”*

Which was exactly the sort of ominous nonsense no one wanted to hear before breakfast.

Not wanting to repeat past mistakes they started their research.

First, find some solid evidence, then act.

It was right about time for them to actually start thinking about what they were doing anyways.

-

As they went through every stack of papers in the institute, they were realizing that this might be a real threat.

The incident that took place roughly a hundred years ago was one that even Jace remembered Hodge telling them during their classes when they were still young.

It was a demon attack. A terrific one.

The demon was of a specific kind, not at all ordinary. Fast, strong, and nearly indestructible by anything other than pure adamas, which meant almost only seraph blades, that were powerful and easy to maneuver, but for a demon this quick and large... It wasn't all that easy.

Hundreds of these nasty creatures flooded the city of London, destroying everything in sight.

The interesting thing about this particular incident was that it occured periodically in almost every century.

It was London in the year 1906.

Before that, Vienna in 1803.

The list went on.

And now in 2009... It did raise alarm bells.

The clave didn't really take an interest in this (not very surprising) since the last attack ended with the Shadowhunters succeeding in killing the mother demon, therefore closing the portal to the dimensions these beasts came from. Allegedly.

The fairies told another story thought.

That killing the demons wasn't a long term victory. That closing the portal didn't guarantee it would stay closed forever.

That the attacks were not random.

That they were part of a cycle.

And that it would happen again.

And that, according to them, it was created — or controlled — by a warlock.

“He’s got a name like a rejected villain from a children’s play,” Jace had muttered after reading it out loud.

*“Morvius the Timebender.”*

Clary: “That can’t be real.”

Jace: “He sounds like he wears a velvet cape and screams ‘you’ll regret this' at random pedestrians.”

Unfortunately, it was real. And worse — the fairies insisted he wasn’t dead.

And the spell they found in that dusty warlock volume? It wasn’t a window into the past.

It was a door.

-

They obviously couldn't go to the clave.

Not only would they totally ignore the warnings (cause why wouldn't they) and call them silly theories, and they would probably have small issues with Clary and Jace having contacts with fairies despite the Cold Peace, not to mention reading from a book containing old warlock spells.

Not that they needed the clave anyways.

They have been looking through all the books and documents they could find for days now, hoping to find something that would help them find something more.

Anything would be helpful, really.

Anything about the spell that had to be casted in order to open a portal of this size.

Or about that Warlock, for a change.

His motive.

Anything.

So the first thing that (naturally) came to their mind, was to go to the one any only (really only) warlock, (what a surprise) Magnus Bane.

Except that that was out of the question.

Magnus was ignoring all their calls.

(Which was also totally not Jace's fault)

So Clary decided to try and contact their second best choice.

Which meant Catarina.

Catarina, who was very kind but said she was not present during that time in London and when Clary asked if she knew anything from Magnus she said Magnus never told her anything.

(which translated to 'Magnus told me but he also told me not to talk to you because of that one thing Jace whatever-his-name-is Herondale did, so I'm doing you a huge favour just picking up this call').

....and before they knew it, they were chanting a spell from the old volume of magic that had fallen off the shelf.

It should've been a small harmful spell.

It promised showing them the past.

That's what they have expected.

A quick look. Perhaps a window, showing them what happened that year in London.

Yeah... That didn't exactly happen.

The candles blew out.

The lights flickered.

The ground trembled like it was trying not to panic.

Somewhere upstairs, Alec yelled, “What did you do?” (They ignored that.)

Five seconds later, the entire power grid of Manhattan shorted out.

Then silence.

Then — pounding on the front door.

Jace and Clary froze. Hands to weapons. A slow glance. And then a sprint down the stairs.

Jace went first, holding his breath as he prepared for the worst, only to open the door to see two men, roughly the same age as him and Clary, dressed in old fashioned suits, one with neatly brushed golden hair, holding an umbrella in his hand, the other wearing a black top hat on his head covering his dark messy curls.

The first thing Clary noticed as she looked at the strangers over Jace's shoulder was the striking eyes of the black haired man.

They were golden.

Just like Jace's own.

They both looked confused and ready to fight if needed, their expression no doubt matching Jace's and Clary's.

The blond one broke the silence with a soft awkward cough.

“Well,” he said, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. “This is rather unpleasant. Could someone kindly tell us what in the name of the Angel just happened, and where exactly we are?”

Jace just stared at them both.

The first thing that came out of his mouth (also naturally) was:

“...Why do you both look like you’re one tragic piano note away from a Victorian death scene?”

“It was a venomous demon,” Matthew hissed, sagging dramatically against a brick wall, looking up at the sky with the longing of a romantic heroine. “With eyes like coals and a vendetta against beauty. It went for my face, James.”

“It went for your ankle, Math.”

Matthew clutched his ankle. “My face of the leg!”

James stopped. “What does that even—” He sighed, then caught him as he nearly collapsed. “You’re burning up.”

“Oh no. Fever. Hallucinations. Soon I’ll start telling the truth.” He blinked up at James. “I’m in love with you.”

James froze.

Matthew blinked. “Did I say that aloud? That was… unfortunate.”

“You’re delirious,” James muttered, pulling him back upright, clearly trying not to look at him.

“You know, if I die now, that’ll be the last thing I ever say to you. ‘I’m in love with you.’ Isn’t that romantic? Isn’t that terribly French?”

“You’re not dying.”

“Then kiss me and make me live.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m irresistible.”

“You’re bleeding on my coat.”

Matthew gave a pitiful noise. “Well take me home then, oh knight of blood-stained wool, before I say something even worse. I might propose.”