#laurae

He sank down onto the end of one of the long tables that ran the length of the room with a cup of tea and a pastry, the book open beside him. He was careful not to get any flakes of pastry on the pages and, when he was done, pulled one cotton reading glove on to leaf through the pages. His work was spreading across the table, maps and diagrams seeming to burst out of his notebook and onto the table all around him. The only thing that made him look up was when he hit the bottom of his mug and became aware he was drinking the tea leaves at the bottom. 

“Someone’s coming,” Livvy warned and Ty prepared himself. She always kept an eye out to see if anyone was headed over when he was working, giving him those precious few moments to pull his mind away from his work. Changing from one task to another was never something that felt completely comfortable, like a piece of his brain was still with the last thing, but having it not be so instantaneous was a help.

“Blackthorn, you have a letter.”

Ty pushed his headphones around his neck.

“A letter,” he repeated absently. “Thanks.”

He glanced up at his classmate and she winked. That was happening more and more recently. Sometimes he wondered just what they saw in him, what warranted the sideways glances and giggles and winks. He’d looked at old photos and didn’t see all that much difference. Girls liked guys with muscles - Ty knew that. But he wasn’t strong, not like Julian. He looked more like Mark, lithe and long, with willowy limbs. Though he trained to keep his skills honed, he spent more time hefting heavy tomes from room to room and climbing the ladders attached to the library shelves than he did doing strength and cardio.  But then, he wasn’t sure he wanted the Scholomance girls to look at him like that. He didn’t know what he wanted. All he did know was that no one made his heart race and his stomach knot the way memories of Kit did. But still, he didn’t know what that meant – if it meant anything at all. There was guilt there, and fear, and a nagging grief that seemed to whistle through the hole it left in his chest like wind through the rocks off the LA beach. A million emotions mixed together meant it was hard to isolate any in particular, which was just fine as far as Ty was concerned.

He went back to his room with the letter, books tucked under his arm, and put it all down on the desk. Letters were usually from his family, and he’d read it later. He hoped it was from Dru, maybe including some photos from home, or a cool piece of sea glass she thought he’d like. His desk drawer was full of trinkets from Dru; a handful of cherry blossom from his first spring away from LA, a pressed bush mallow flower that grew near the brush, the shed skin of a rattlesnake. It was just itching to be opened now. He edged a finger under the flap of the envelope and started when he saw the official Clave seal.

“Who’s it from?” Livvy asked, floating closer to read over his shoulder.

“Alec Lightwood,” Ty breathed. Alec Lightwood was a god amongst men, a personal hero of Ty’s. He was quiet and serious and unbelievably smart. Ty would never want to be Consul, but he wouldn’t mind being like Alec. His eyes scanned the letter now and his hands spasmed in excitement when he got to the end. “Livvy!”

“I saw!” she exclaimed, twirling around in her white burial gown happily.

“I am writing to you because I’m aware of your research into the nyrual demon species. We believe we may have located a pod in the New York’s Brooklyn area. We will be leading a hunt tonight at nightfall. If you can spare some time and researchers, we’d be glad to have you. Shadowhunters will be waiting for you on the corner of Fulton and Franklin from eleven tonight. Thanks in advance, Consul Alec Lightwood,” Ty read, then looked up at Livvy, wide-eyed. “Wait, eleven? That’s...that’s nine here. That’s...” He checked his phone - there was barely any service here anyway, it was functioning mostly as a clock and a notepad - and leapt to his feet. “That’s less than an hour.”

 He started strapping on gear frantically, Livvy reminding him where his knives and stele were stored. Everything felt rushed and manic, and the rest of his team didn’t even know this was happening yet. With leg holsters half-buckled and his robes streaming behind him like banners, Ty tore through the Scholomance halls, knocking on the doors to his fellow researchers’ rooms, telling them the plan one by one. By the time they were gathered by the portal, everyone drawing runes on each other with haste, Ty already felt breathless. Livvy was muttering reassurances, lingering close by. Only when the head of the Scholomance stepped forward did everyone fall silent. It was hard not to; the Scholomance was led now by Jia Penhallow, after she’d stepped down from a governmental position to spend more time with her family. Even now, the Penhallow name and her gaze commanded attention just the same way it always had.

“Centurions, you are the greatest scholars the Shadow World has to offer. This is a unique academic opportunity, a fact I’m sure is not lost on you. The Consul is counting on you. You are the next generation of graduates from this hallowed establishment. Do not let us down.”

Ty felt as if he was vibrating. His whole life had led up to this. Every day he’d spent working all night because he thought he’d found a lead, every time he was yanked out of sleep by a sudden idea that sent him running through the halls to the library in the darkness, every backhanded comment about his worth on this mission. It was leading up to this. His project, the demon he was investigating, with his research team. They were headed to New York, to the very core of modern Shadowhunter politics, and he was right there at the centre of it. He looked around at his team, who all looked back, wide-eyed. They looked alert, even though most of them had only woken up a half hour ago.

“Blackthorn, would you like to give any final instructions to your team?” Jia offered, and Ty stepped forward. Though speaking to even one of them individually in a social setting seemed like a potential threat, speaking about work was fine. This was his thing; this he could do.

“You should all have brought some containers for samples. If you can draw ichor, or remove any hide from the demon, transfer it to a sterile container as soon as possible. Anything you can take to examine later - saliva, swabs, anything - will be useful. Remember that the demon is photophobic, but this is a last resort. We want to study it, so your witchlights and any bright device is a last resort. Spread the word to Shadowhunters to avoid seraph blades where possible. The light will scare them off, and if we’re going to figure out what this demon’s modus operandi is, we need to gather intel before we can dispatch it.” He pushed his headphones over his ears, grinning. “Let’s go.”

He let the others go first, lingering back until only one of his team stayed. She glanced back at him worriedly.

“Are you seriously going to wear those to a battle?” she asked, nodding to his headphones.

“If I want to get back alive, I am,” Ty told her. She wavered but turned and leapt into the portal.

Ty took a deep breath and turned to Jia, who gave him a nod of good luck, and walked away. He looked up at Livvy, who grinned.

“Go. Your team are waiting. I’ll be right behind you.”

“No lights,” he muttered sullenly, and Alec and Magnus exchanged puzzled looks.

“I’ve got my witchlight right here, Ty. We’ve got light,” Alec said finally, sounding puzzled.

“No. You can’t use light on the demon. We need samples to study first and it’s photophobic. You need to call your shadowhunters off from using seraph blades.” He looked across at Magnus. “I need you to hold off using your magic until then.”

“Okay, we can do that. But what exactly do you think you two were doing out there, fighting with each other?” Alec asked, and this time his Consul-voice was in full effect, glancing expectantly between the two. When neither spoke, Alec sighed. Magnus knew he hated pulling rank, but Alec squared his shoulders anyway. “Well whatever it was, stop it. You’ll get someone killed, either one of you or someone else. You’re jeopardising the mission. Ty, go to your Centurions. Kit, start spreading the word about the seraph blade ban. When you’ve got your samples, Ty, let us know so we can use our adamas again.” He doused his witchlight and strode over to the heavy door of the crypt, pushing it open.

Kit and Ty headed in opposite directions as soon as they stepped into the cool night air, and Alec looked at Magnus, who was grinning. As soon as they were out in the open air, Alec was stricken by the force of the noise the battle was producing. After so many years, he’d have thought he’d be used to it, but the sounds of blades slamming into the floor and bodies smacking into sidewalk, of the demon’s screams and hisses, still rang in his ears just as loud as they always had. When Magnus spoke, he had to raise his voice a little for Alec to even hear him.

“Guess I’m stuck with you,” Magnus teased. “I can’t use my magic until these samples are found. If only some Shadowhunter could protect me.”

“Jace is right over there,” Alec quipped, nodding to where his parabatai was dodging the spiny tail of the demon. When Magnus took a step forward in mock-indignation, Alec grabbed him by the arm. “But perhaps you should stay with the Consul. We can’t risk the safety of the High Warlock of Brooklyn.”

Magnus pulled a knife from Alec’s leg sheath and tossed it end over end, catching it idly. If he wasn’t allowed to use his magic, he might as well be armed. “That’s probably best. Now let’s go. It’s getting late and you know Rafe won’t sleep unless you or I are there.”

“Then let’s hope these Centurions can get their samples quick. Rafe won’t sleep unless we’re home. He’ll be a nightmare tomorrow if he doesn’t get enough rest. By the Angel, Izzy will have her work cut out. You know Max will have had about eighteen stories by now.”

Magnus watched as Alec kicked the crypt door shut and loosed an arrow at the demon’s tail as it threatened to hit Jace in the back of the head. Simultaneously, Jace dropped to a crouch to avoid it. They made eye contact, gave each other a nod, and Alec let another arrow fly. Magnus couldn’t help but smile. Seeing his husband’s wedding ring gleam in the midst of battle never got old.

Magnus looked around, suddenly noticing Alec’s absence from his side only to see a familiar hand reach down, gold ring gleaming.

“Up here. Come on!”

Alec was dangling over a jutting balcony, one hand stretched down to pull Magnus up after him. Magnus took the hand gratefully and vaulted the balcony’s edge elegantly.

“This stonework is going to ruin my jacket,” Magnus sighed. “Sandstone does nothing but rub off dust. Whoever heard of masonry with psoriasis?”

Alec was loosing arrows in a rapid arc, one after another. Below, like stars fading with the rising sun, seraph blades were being doused, light flickering lower and lower until Magnus was glad for his cats’ eyes letting him see in the dark. Alec traced a night vision rune on his tricep and called out.

“Everyone back. Until the centurions have their samples, no one intervenes. Shadowhunters, backs to the walls!”

At the sound of the Consul’s voice, all the Shadowhunters in gear backed up, all with weapons poised, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. Magnus could see the Centurions, their robes billowing in the wind, approaching the demon. At the forefront was Ty, motioning silently with his hands. Magnus couldn’t help but marvel. Those hands, that shook and spasmed and flapped, were like musical instruments now they had a task. They conducted his orchestra of researchers with complete control, precise and careful, his headphones over his ears. And his Centurions were watching their leader, someone years their junior, with complete deference. His hands, where they moved in the air, communicated what any dialogue could have, but with complete silence. The nyrual was blind to anything but light, Magnus realised. This was a demon that could sense light with complete precision, but nothing else. No wonder they had to be in darkness; it was all the creature had to sense movement by. This thing Ty was doing, this complex web of hand movements that reminded Magnus of his own hands casting spells or summoning demons, was a language, a language all his centurions spoke. Magnus couldn’t help but marvel. He knew he’d been right to tell Ty to go to the Scholomance. Scholars had to think laterally, creatively, to unearth information from books that had been read and reread thousands of times by thousands of scholars. But Ty wasn’t like thousands of other scholars; that was why Alec had called him here.

A quick hand motion and one of the centurions yanked Alec’s arrow from the demon’s tail as others held it still. Magnus froze, his eyes trailing to Ty who had one hand against the nyrual’s iridescent hide.

“What is he doing?” Alec hissed, looking horrified.

“I think he’s…calming it down,” Magnus replied quietly.

Sure enough, Ty had one hand on the demon’s neck, rubbing something into its flesh. When he dragged a knife gently across the top of its scales, the demon didn’t buck, just laid there. Magnus and Alec were looking from one another to the demon and back again, perplexed.

“Can…can you tame demons?” Magnus asked.

“I can’t. I don’t think anyone else can. Apparently, Tiberius Blackthorn is another story.”

Ty slowly removed his hand, deposited the scales in an airtight box from his pocket, and glanced around at the Centurions crowded around the demon’s tail. One gave a thumbs up, waving a vial of extracted blood, and Ty drew his hand down. In a single motion, like the crash of a tide, the Centurions moved back. Ty drove a sword through the demon’s tail, pinning it to the ground as it shrieked, held in place by the weapon so the Shadowhunters could dispatch it. A helicopter flew low over the city, sliding past their battle without a trace of what was happening behind heavy glamours, a bright white searchlight searing through the dark of night. Magnus froze. The light streaked across the demon and Magnus braced for the worst. A photophobic demon being bathed in sharp white light sounded like a recipe for disaster.

There was a split second before the nyrual let out a blood-curdling cry.

Ty staggered backward and Magnus felt his heart catch in his throat as the shadowhunter dropped to the ground, hands going up to his ears over his headphones.

“Move,” Alec ordered, and the two of them vaulted the balcony at once, dropping down onto the floor below in a crouch and setting off sprinting.

“Stay back!” Alec yelled to the other shadowhunters, as they began to move. “We don’t want too many people too close!”

Even as he said it, a single figure broke free of the crowds, hurtling across the sidewalk like his feet were hardly touching the ground, drawn to Ty like a magnet clicking into place.

Kit.

Magnus threw a hand out without thinking, catching Kit in a loop of sparks and dragging him back. The demon bucked, wailing, and swung its tail fiercely, leaving the sword still thrust in the ground, a long slit down to the end of its tail where it had pulled free. Ichor was already leaking, and Ty shoved himself back from the thrashing tail, pressing up against the wall, but it was clear to everyone that he wasn’t out of danger.

“Ty!” Kit yelled. “It’s okay!”

Ty looked up and seemed to come out of his own head for a second, eyes locked on Kit. It was okay, Magnus thought, for a moment. It had worked. But then Ty started shaking his head, eyes wild, and Magnus understood. He yanked hard on the lasso of sparks around Kit, hauling him towards them.

“You’re giving it a target,” he hissed in Kit’s ear. “Shut up.”

“We have to get to Ty,” Kit said breathlessly. “We have to. Please!”

Magnus threw Alec a look, a look Alec returned. He recognised that voice, that shaky timbre, that primal horror. He recognised it from the Mortal War, from the Battle of the Burren, from every battle where one of them had come running across the battlefield, heedless of any danger, because of a gripping fear something had happened to the one they loved. Alec nodded.

“Move carefully. Split up, each take a side – avoid the face. Seraph blades out. Let’s try and confuse it,” Alec said, planning quickly.

Magnus flicked his hands and blue fire bloomed in his palms, dancing between his fingertips. He whistled through his teeth as Kit and Alec parted to either side of him, like a river delta.

“Time to dance, bitch,” Magnus called to the demon, and watched as she whipped her head towards him.

By now, Ty was moving, trying to avoid the stinging tail on the demon. It whipped back and forth, and he was trying to navigate his way out of its reach at the same time as dodging its flailing appendage, doing his best not to touch any of the ichor. His robes already had a jagged tear in the leg where one of the spiny points on the demon’s tail had caught him and pinned him in place. He’d slashed the section off with a knife and leapt back, grabbing up the spindle as it dislodged with the next swing. If nothing else, this would be a great haul for research material.

Magnus was keeping an eye on the boy, Alec watching Kit’s movements. He finally got close enough to aim a ball of hot blue magic at the demon’s flank. It burned straight through, exposing maroon flesh that was melting on contact, leaking a rotting odour that made Magnus want to gag. If demons smelt bad already, this was like a demon in a garbage fire on the River Thames. His eyes went to Alec who drew a seraph blade and threw it, end over end, until it plunged into one of the demon’s eyeless sockets. The creature reared, crying out bestially. As it did, it slammed a hand down, and Magnus froze.

“Ty!” he yelled, knowing it was too late.

He glanced away for only a moment, wincing at the inevitable, before he heard the impact of a body hit the ground. Not one, no. Two. He looked over to see Kit, Ty clutched against him, as the two of them skidded to a stop on the ichor-slicked street. The poison was burning through the top layer of their clothes already, and Ty scrambled to his feet, yanking Kit up after him with a hand, and set off running, one hand clasped around Kit’s wrist, pulling him along.