#notbeingcryptic

What was expensive was never particularly well hidden, but Magnus had never credited shadowhunters with much of an imagination. It was less than ten minutes before he was admiring how a particularly immaculate sapphire looked on his finger, golden necklaces draped over his neck and diamond earrings clinking around in his pockets.

It was the rare that was more of a challenge, but always the true objective for any of his heists. It took him nearly an hour to find where this family had hidden their spoils, and the way satisfaction and revulsion warred within him had long become familiar. He packed the glass jars and velvet pouches away with care, magic already sparking between his fingers in preparation of creating a portal when the rustle of clothing from behind reached his ears.

He had both hands up and magic at the ready before he’d even turned, finding himself face-to-face with the tip of an arrow. The hardness on the shadowhunter’s face morphed as his eyes landed on the bright red offensive magic cupped between Magnus’ palms.

“You’re a warlock,” he stated, appearing more baffled than accusing. Magnus fought the urge to laugh - had the nephilim been under the assumption that one of their own could have been pulling this off for six months without getting caught?

“Very observant of you,” he replied, his voice as fractured from the glamour as his image and jarring to his own ears. He could only imagine what tall, dark and handsome was making of the sight he’d stumbled upon. “And I really must be going. Better luck next time, shadowhunter.”

With the flick of his wrist he created a portal, and only caught the start of the man’s shout as he stepped through and vanished from the room.

It took a month of research to settle on his next target, and another three weeks for the timing to be right. Magnus was happy to arrive at a house just outside of Alicante, elegant and expansive where it sat surrounded by thick woods. Being outside the city and away from the majority of Idris’ resident shadowhunters always made him feel just a bit safer - though not enough to let his glamour drop for a second.

The extravagance of the home was even more grossly apparent inside and his pockets were stuffed in minutes. The many rooms presented more of a problem, but the night was still young and Magnus wasn’t about to back down from searching for the needle in this haystack.

He’d just stumbled upon a secret basement when the sensation of being watched made him freeze. An arrow hit the wall where he’d been about to step seconds later, and he turned to find a familiar face nocking a second arrow.

“That was a warning,” the shadowhunter grumbled out, and Magnus arched an eyebrow despite the glamour marring his features. With a flick of the wrist the man was flying back against the wall, pinned there while his bow clattered against the ground.

“If you don’t mind, I’m really rather busy at the moment.” He could hear the shadowhunter’s huffing breath as he struggled against the magic keeping him in place, but Magnus knew it would hold. The shadowhunter clearly hadn’t been ready to go up against a warlock of his magnitude, but he wasn’t about to look that gift horse in the mouth.

The sub-basement was full of all sorts of relics that Magnus imagined the homeowners didn’t want anyone to find, but locating what he was after was taking some time. The shadowhunter had stopped fighting and was mostly sulking by the time Magnus started muttering to himself in frustration.

“What is it you’re looking for?”

Magnus paused, glancing over at the scowl that now contained a hint of curiosity. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

The nephilim rolled his eyes so hard that Magnus nearly laughed. “I’m just saying, nothing down here looks like the kind of shiny things you normally steal.”

“You noticed? I’m so flattered.”

“It’s my job.” The man’s face held that seriousness again. “You’ve looted seven different homes in Idris. Did you think we wouldn’t notice?”

Magnus shrugged, unsure of how well it would translate. “I generally expect the Clave to be oblivious about anything of importance, but had figured it might have caught on by now. You’re the dog they’ve sent after me, then? Must be very proud of yourself for catching me. Twice, even! They ought to give you a raise.”

“You wait until the family’s out of town before breaking in and shadowhunters don’t exactly take many vacations. It’s not rocket science to predict where you might turn up,” the man said dryly. Magnus was known to appreciate a good amount of sass and couldn’t help the bark of laughter this time. “Warlock magic certainly explains how you’ve been getting in and out without leaving a trace. We didn’t think any downworlder would be stupid enough to break the Accords over a few jewels.”

“Suppose I’m just a special case.” Magnus returned his attention to his mission, a chest hidden under a table catching his eye. He nudged the table out of the way with a bit of magic and ran his fingertips along the dusty, warped wood, taking a deep breath as he prepared himself for what might be inside. The lock melted without much fight and the lid creaked as it opened to reveal the largest collection he’d found yet, row after row of jars in all shapes and colors stacked together.

He swore under his breath, but the shadowhunter was clearly paying close attention. “What?” he questioned, frowning when Magnus ignored him and began to pack away the jars. He paused when he came across something familiar, heart sinking as he rubbed his thumb against the glass. “What is-- are those horns?”

“They belonged to a warlock named Aengus. He was never short on stories and couldn’t sing to save his life-- not that it ever stopped him.” He placed the jar away carefully, wincing as the next one he lifted out of the chest contained a reptilian-looking pair of eyes.

“What is this?” The nephilim’s voice was strained now, wide eyes locked on the chest. Magnus shook his head, keeping his head down and hands busy.

“Haven’t you ever wondered where some shadowhunters get all this lovely jewelry? It isn’t as if demon-hunting is a particularly lucrative business. But the families whose ancestors hunted warlocks for sport gained quite a lot of wealth that way-- and what’s a good hunt without a trophy?” he asked without humor, holding up a larger jar that contained a set of bat-like wings, folded to fit within the confines of the glass.

“You’re taking back the warlock marks,” the man stated, looking green. Magnus only hummed in return, the sound coming out like a buzzing bee.

“Plus a little extra. Some might say I’m a downworld Robin Hood.” He managed to snort at the confused look he was met with, having momentarily forgotten how entirely out of touch the shadowhunters tended to be with the rest of the world. “Fictional character from a mundane story; steals from the rich and gives to the poor. New warlocks need to start somewhere -- and the recently turned vampires and werewolves could always use a bit of financial help until they get settled.”

The gentle sounds of glass tapping together was the only noise as Magnus emptied the rest of the chest, but he didn’t mind the quiet. It was almost refreshing to see the shadowhunter seemed to be really processing the information, rather than try to deny or justify the actions of his kind.

“They were only reporting the jewels missing,” was what finally came out when he spoke. “This-- it can’t be legal, holding onto-- no one reported it,” he explained weakly. “I never imagined…”

Magnus watched in silence as the shadowhunter heaved out a sigh, head falling back against the wall.

“This really makes it harder to dislike you, you know.”

The warlock blinked, head tilting back as he let out a real laugh. “Sorry to inconvenience you, little nephilim. Though now that I’ve got what I came for, I think it’s time to say our goodbyes. Don’t worry; I’ll let you down before I go,” he assured, catching the concern in the other man’s eyes.

“You know if I get a chance, I’ll still have to bring you in?”

“I’ll make sure not to give you that chance then,” Magnus promised. He lifted his fingers to give a blurred wave before summoning a portal, and only smirked a little at the way the shadowhunter flailed his way to the floor when he lifted the magic. He was gone before the man was back on his feet.

He’d only been in the house a few minutes when the shadowhunter caught up to him this time. Magic was swirling between his fingers in seconds, but the man raising his palms in surrender had him pausing. A second glance revealed the nephilim wasn’t armed with his typical bow and arrow, and--

“Are you wearing sweatpants?”

He snorted. “I was sleeping before someone broke into the house,” he said, a teasing lilt to his words, but Magnus’ hackles were rising fast.

“You live here?”

The shadowhunter blinked, seeming to quickly realize why Magnus was there and shaking his head just as rapidly. “No! I’m staying here, but it’s not… Nothing here is mine. Friends of my parents own this place. I think they figured me being here might keep you away, and I needed somewhere to stay while my replacement settles into my old quarters.”

That delightfully sassy face was back, and Magnus couldn’t resist the bite of curiosity. “Replacement?”

“The Clave prefers results when it comes to chasing down Alicante’s most notorious criminal. They still think you’re a shadowhunter and aren’t impressed I still haven’t caught you.”

Magnus’ lips quirked at the edges. “You didn’t tell them?” he questioned, and the shadowhunter’s hands slipped into his pockets as he shrugged.

“Must’ve slipped my mind.”

“Well, I apologize for getting you demoted, but I can’t deny I’m relieved. You’re actually quite competent-- for a shadowhunter,” he added, appreciating the huff of laughter he received in return. “I was starting to think I might end up in trouble.”

“You’re safe tonight,” the man assured, and Magnus found himself charmed by the small smile that curved his full lips. “And they may see reassigning me to a position away from Idris as a punishment, but lately I’ve been thinking it might be good to have some time away.” He shifted from foot to foot before speaking up again. “Hey, you, uh-- need any help?”

Which was how Magnus found himself uncovering the location of three stolen warlock marks with the help of an actual nephilim. The conversation was brief but easy, comfortable in a way he didn’t always feel with strangers. The logical part of his brain was telling him that the trust he was putting in this shadowhunter was unwise, but he found it surprisingly easy to suppress. He hadn’t collected nearly as much wealth from this particular home, but still felt satisfied by the time he was conjuring a portal that would take him far from the residents of Alicante.

“See you around, shadowhunter,” he said, but the nephilim spoke up before he could step through.

“Alec. My name, I mean. It’s Alec.” His smile held a touch of sadness, and Magnus realized the likelihood of their paths crossing again was slim.

It hit him harder than he would have expected, and without fully thinking it through he dropped the glamour enough to reveal the top half of his face, cat-like pupils and all.

Alec’s eyes widened in obvious surprise, but there was no hint of distaste or revulsion. He quickly looked down, and the redness that blossomed on his cheeks stirred a warmth within Magnus that was almost embarrassing.

“See you around, Alec.” His tone was softer, bittersweet, and he was gone before either of them could say anything else.

Magnus been avoiding New York for some time, occupying various vacation homes around the globe, but he knew he couldn’t stay away forever. Taking back warlock marks and other downworlder trophies from the shadowhunters who deemed it appropriate to still keep them was rewarding work, but it had begun to wear on him, and he couldn’t avoid his responsibilities to the warlocks who still lived under his protection.

There was no better way to celebrate his return than with a stiff drink, and he found himself at The Hunter’s Moon after a customary visit to his Brooklyn apartment to ensure no squatters had made themselves at home in his absence. (He’d learned his lesson and put up better wards after last time). He recognized the woman behind the bar from the last time he’d been called to help Luke’s pack. She drew eyes from all over the room with her warm brown skin and natural curls, and Magnus was already beaming as he made himself comfortable on a stool.

“Maia, my favorite werewolf. It’s been too long.”

The look she shot him was less than amused. “Favorite, my ass. Everyone knows you and Luke are a few too many drinks away from locking lips.”

Magnus snorted, raising his drink to her after she slid it across the bar before taking a sip. She still remembered just how he liked it. “I don’t think I’m Luke’s type, unfortunately for me and any potential spectators.”

Her smirk could bring weaker men to their knees and Magnus was enjoying the chance to catch up with the latest downworlder gossip when he felt a presence at his side. The shadowhunter who’d approached him was young and unfairly gorgeous, a shimmering waterfall of black hair running down her back and eyes that could pierce one’s soul.

“Are you Magnus Bane? The High Warlock of Brooklyn?”

He wasn’t oblivious to the runes that were scattered across her skin and he forced his face to remain impassive in spite of the spike of nerves. He couldn’t afford to stay relaxed when a shadowhunter was asking for him by name. Not when he’d been so stupid as to reveal his mark to one of them, which he was sincerely regretting now. Even if that particular nephilim had starred in a number of his fantasies since.

“Who’s asking?”

“Isabelle Lightwood of the New York institute.” She held out her hand and he noted that her grip was firm but not crushing. She wasn’t treating him as any sort of enemy. “We’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a while; we found something that appears to be cursed, and we’ve been informed that you might be the only one in the city powerful enough to remove it. You would be compensated, of course.”

She smiled, and he felt the tension drain from his shoulders. He was rather motivated to avoid imprisonment, but business he could handle. Especially when it meant sending the Clave a bill at the end. He drained his glass and slipped off the stool, bidding farewell to Maia before turning to Isabelle with open arms. “Lead the way, Miss Lightwood.”

He’d been in the institute once or twice before but it struck him how long it had been since the last time when he spotted the updated technology. He was reluctantly impressed; he would’ve thought the nephilim were too uptight to adapt anything resembling mundane technology into their missions, but the large entry room was littered with screens. He was still trying to take it all in when he realized Isabelle had stopped, and he followed her gaze towards an all-too familiar pair of eyes.

“Magnus Bane, meet my brother, Alexander Lightwood: head of the New York Institute,” she announced proudly, and Magnus could have scoffed. Some demotion. He fought to keep his expression polite and professional, but he knew that Alec’s widening eyes when faced with Magnus’ own unglamoured pair meant he’d been recognized. His mind was calculating how quickly he could summon a portal and escape when Alec pasted a smile on his face and reached out his hand.

“Please, call me Alec.” His smile was knowing, a little secretive, and more than appreciative as his eyes swept over Magnus’ form from head to toe. Magnus took his hand to shake, feeling a thrill as Alec’s thumb brushed against his own before they parted.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said, trying not to sound as breathless as he felt. “I think Alexander suits you.”

“Did you hear that?”

“No one is home, Alexander,” Magnus repeated for the third time, carefully stacking jars together in his bag. “You checked, remember? You’re just being paranoid.”

“Sorry I’m not a seasoned criminal,” Alec snarked, but the fondness in his voice was undeniable. “Are you done?”

“Nearly.” He tucked away the last of the glass containers, turning to his boyfriend with a sunny smile. “Shall we?”

Hand in hand, they portaled back to Magnus’ apartment in Brooklyn-- their apartment, really, since Alec had been sleeping there more nights than not for the past three months. He had a toothbrush in the holder by the sink, three drawers full of jeans and graying shirts and sweatpants, and a section in the closet for his jackets.

Alec let out a long exhale, sounding like he’d been holding it in the entire time they’d been gone. “How do you do that more than once? I thought I was going to have a heart attack.”

“I think your heart is safe; you’re in excellent shape,” Magnus said with a leer, more to see the blush it ignited in Alec’s cheeks than to really get anything started. He dropped the smile as he began to unload what they’d found onto the counter, quiet as he considered his next words. “I do it because I couldn’t stand the thought of any of them owning trophies of people I loved, or people I never had the chance to meet. I like to think this helps to put them at rest, if they aren’t already.”

He felt Alec’s breath on his neck moments before tanned arms wrapped around his waist. “You’re incredible, Magnus.” His voice was no more than a murmur, lips brushing against the skin where the warlock’s neck met his shoulder. Magnus laced their fingers together to drag his nephilim towards their bedroom, Alec laughing as he stumbled after him.