Outcast

Chapter One - Not Your Average High Warlock

"You can call me High Warlock Bane," he snapped, hitting the video button and glaring blearily at the screen that flickered to life next to him. It was a Shadowhunter, and part of him wanted to believe it was someone from his family. He knew it wasn't, though, even if he looked like it physically. This boy had dark black hair combed into a quiff at the top of his head. His eyes were gold and he was tall and lean, the battlegear hugging him nicely in all the right areas. He could see the swell of his biceps under his long sleeves and all the weapons around his body—two seraph blades in his belt, a knife on the inside of his thigh, a sword on his back, a staff across the sword, and inside his sleeves Alec knew he would be hiding smaller weapons.

"Ah—I've been sent by—by the head of the New York Institute to talk to you," he said nervously. This brought Alec pause. The head was his father. Unless his father was absent or— No, he didn't want to pursue that thought train.

"What is the name of the head of the New York Institute?" he demanded. The Shadowhunter shivered in the cold and, to Alec's shock, turned those piercing eyes directly on the hidden camera. His face was gorgeous from the front—a nice, angular jawline with a touch of a five o'clock shadow, a long nose and full lips, and makeup around his eyes done flawlessly. His skin was a deep honey color, and he could see the tip of a Mark curling up toward his ear.

"Jace Wayland," he said. Alec's breath caught.

"Jace," he whispered, forgetting his finger was still on the button. Clearing his throat, he pressed the buzzer to let him up and stated, "Come on, I'll hear you."

The Shadowhunter nodded once and opened the door. Alec waved a hand and his pajamas disappeared, replaced by a black sweater with a silver scarf, dark jeans, and black socks. He hastily finger-combed his hair down and rubbed the weariness off his face, snapping his fingers to start the coffeepot.

There was a knock.

Alec pulled open the door and stood there with his arms crossed. "Well?"

The Shadowhunter raised an eyebrow. "Are...you going to invite me in? Isabelle spoke of your kindness."

Ugh, she would. With a barely concealed sneer at this Shadowhunter's arrogance, Alec stepped aside and coldly waved him in. "And do try not to upset my cat."

The Chairman, as if to prove his point, hissed delicately from his spot on the counter. The Shadowhunter looked at him curiously.

"Can I pet him?" he asked.

"No," Alec replied, crossing his arms. "What do you want? Or, better, what does Jace want? And who are you? Answer the last one first."

"My name is Magnus," he introduced himself, gold eyes shining. "Magnus Lightwood."

"I didn't know Maryse and Robert had another kid," Alec said, much more sharply than intended.

"Adopted," he amended, shrugging one shoulder. "My parents—died. Years ago."

"I'm sorry." Alec really meant it, but his voice sounded nonchalant.

"As for what Jace wants—he wants your help," he continued, nonplussed. "Valentine has been recruiting more and more Downworlders. As a warlock with suitable knowledge of the Downworld, he said you can help."

"I don't deal with Shadowhunters." The words pulled themselves from Alec's throat like sandpaper but he didn't hesitate as he continued; "Shadowhunters have done nothing for me except drive me to exile and forget that I have ever existed. If I wanted to, I could destroy the Institute by hardly lifting a finger. I could snap your neck without trying." Alec held out a hand. Blue magic wrapped around Magnus' shoulders and he gasped as it tightened, pressing his arms to his sides.