Outcast

Chapter One - Not Your Average High Warlock

"I could rip off your limbs." Another finger flick and one of Magnus' arms jerked upwards without his command. He walked in a circle around the Shadowhunter. "I could throw you across the room." Snap. He was hovering a foot off the ground. Magnus had gone pale and was struggling now, but was still silent. Alec leaned in, very close to Magnus' face (he had to lower him back down to the floor to do so) and said, very quietly, "I was the youngest warlock to ever become a High Warlock. I have watched and caused the fall of empires. I have lived through Rome, fought in World War One, survived the Black Plague." He jabbed a ringed finger into Magnus' chest. "You are powerless and insignificant like every other Shadowhunter I have had the pleasure of meeting." The word 'pleasure' dripped sarcasm.

Magnus frowned. "No, you haven't," he said softly. Alec narrowed his eyes.

"That's a strong assumption to be making, Upworlder," he warned. "Choose your next words with care."

"I have—lived with the Lightwoods for...ten years," he explained slowly, no longer struggling. "I have spoken with Isabelle, Jace, and Max, and I know your story, Alexander Lightwood."

The use of his old name took him by such surprise that his magic faltered. Magnus took a hasty step backwards, rubbing his upper arm where the magic had gripped him.

"What did you call me?" he whispered, not even saying the words so much as moving his lips and exhaling.

"Your birth name. Alexander Gideon Lightwood. You were born to Maryse and Robert Lightwood in September of 1989 in Idris, the Shadowhunter city. You would have taken your Marks at ten years old if you had not had a sudden explosion of magic at nine. Your warlock mark developed not long after, and Maryse—"

"I know the story," Alec roared, suddenly livid. Magic crackled at his hands with a sound like thunder. The lights flickered. Magnus stepped back again, one hand going to a seraph blade. "I lived the goddamn story!" he continued in the same loud voice. "I was there when Maryse disowned me! I was there when I was thrown out into the world at the ripe age of twelve! I was there when I had to throw myself upon the mercy of Ragnor Fell, hoping that one day, I might not be quite the scourge as my family saw me for!"

A lightbulb overhead shattered and rained glass. Magnus was breathing almost as hard as Alec. The warlock's chest was throbbing and his hands were shaking. He turned away.

"Leave." His voice dropped to a harsh murmur.

"But—High Warlock Bane—Jace says—"

"You—You tell that damned half-brother of mine," Alec said, in such a calm voice that he felt Magnus freeze, "you tell him that if he wants me, he is to call on my presence himself, and not send some—some orphaned half-wit to dirty my doorstep with his—his angelic presence." Alec turned over his shoulder and said, in the same voice, "And let me teach you a good life lesson, Magnus Demetrius Lightwood. You would do well to keep your filthy Nephilim nose where it belongs. Now get out of my sight."

Magnus hesitated. "How did you know my—?"

"I said to leave or I will show you out myself!" Alec shouted. The door banged open behind Magnus. Biting his lower lip hard, Magnus turned and ran. Alec cut a hand across the front of his body and the door slammed. He heard the Shadowhunter's running footsteps retreating down the hallway.

The Chairman rose gracefully to his tiny paws and padded across the counter, meowing softly, and he touched his cool nose to Alec's upper arm. The warlock turned and picked him up, part of him feeling guilty for shouting at the boy but part of him still angry. The cat reached up and headbutted Alec's chin.