Magnus and Alec's first kiss.
It was printed on thin paper, nearly
parchment, in a thin, elegant, spidery hand. It announced a gathering at the
humble home of Magnus the Magnificent Warlock, and promised attendees “a
rapturous evening of delights beyond your wildest imaginings.”
—City of Bones
—City of Bones
Standing in the stairwell of Magnus’
home, Alec stared at the name written under the buzzer on the wall. BANE. The
name didn’t really seem to suit Magnus, he thought, not now that he knew him.
If you could really be said to know someone when you’d attended one of their
parties, once, and then they’d saved your life later but hadn’t really hung
around to be thanked. But the name Magnus Bane made him think of a towering
sort of figure, with huge shoulders and formal purple warlock’s robes, calling
down fire and lightning. Not Magnus himself, who was more of a cross between a
panther and a demented elf.
Alec took a deep breath and let it
out. Well, he’d come this far; he might as well go on. The bare lightbulb
hanging overhead cast sweeping shadows as he reached forward and pressed the
buzzer.
A moment later a voice echoed
through the stairwell. “WHO CALLS UPON THE HIGH WARLOCK?”
“Er,” Alec said. “It’s me. I mean,
Alec. Alec Lightwood.”
There was a sort of silence, as if
even the hallway itself were surprised. Then a ping, and the second door
opened, letting him out onto the stairwell. He headed up the rickety stairs
into the darkness, which smelled like pizza and dust. The second floor landing
was bright, the door at the far end open. Magnus Bane was leaning in the
entryway.
Compared to the first time Alec has
seen him, he looked fairly normal. His black hair still stood up in spikes, and
he looked sleepy; his face, even with its cat’s eyes, very young. He wore a
black t-shirt with the words ONE MILLION DOLLARS picked out across the chest in
sequins, and jeans that hung low on his hips, low enough that Alec looked away,
down at his own shoes. Which were boring.
“Alexander Lightwood,” said Magnus.
He had just the faintest trace of an accent, something Alec couldn’t put his
finger on, a lilt to his vowels. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Alec looked past Magnus. “Do you
have—company?”
Magnus crossed his arms, which did
good things for his biceps, and leaned against the side of the door. “Why do
you want to know?”
“I was hoping I could come in and
talk to you.”
“Hmmm.” Magnus’ eyes raked him up
and down. They really did shine in the dark, like a cat’s. “Well, all right
then.” He turned abruptly away and disappeared into the apartment; after a
startled moment, Alec followed.
The loft looked different without a
hundred churning bodies in it. It was—well, not ordinary, but the sort of space
someone might live in. Like most lofts, it had a big central room split into
“rooms” by groupings of furniture. There was a square collection of sofas and
tables off to the right, which Magnus gestured Alec toward. Alec sat down on a
gold velvet sofa with elegant wooden curlicues on the arms.
“Would you like some tea?” Magnus
asked. He wasn’t sitting in a chair, but had sprawled himself on a tufted
ottoman, his long legs stretched out in front of him.
Alec nodded. He felt incapable of
saying anything. Anything interesting or intelligent, that was. It was always
Jace who said the interesting, intelligent things. He was Jace’s parabatai and
that was all the glory he needed or wanted: like being the dark star to someone
else’s supernova. But this was somewhere Jace couldn’t go with him, something
Jace couldn’t help him with. “Sure.”
His right hand felt suddenly hot. He
looked down, and realized he was holding a waxed paper cup from Joe, the Art of
Coffee. It smelled like chai. He jumped, and only barely escaped spilling on
himself. “By the Angel—”
“I LOVE that expression,” said
Magnus. “It’s so quaint.”
Alec stared at him. “Did you steal
this tea?”
Magnus ignored the question. “So,”
he said. “Why are you here?”
Alec took a gulp of the stolen tea.
“I wanted to thank you,” he said, when he came up for air. “For saving my
life.”
Magnus leaned back on his hands. His
t-shirt rode up over his flat stomach, and this time Alec had nowhere else to
look. “You wanted to thank me.”
“You saved my life,” Alec said,
again. “But I was delirious, and I don’t think I really thanked you. I know you
didn’t have to do it. So thank you.”
Magnus’ eyebrows had disappeared up
into his hairline. “You’re . . .welcome?”
Alec set his tea down. “Maybe I
should go.”
Magnus sat up. “After you came so
far? All the way to Brooklyn? Just to thank me?” He was grinning. “Now that
would be a wasted effort.” He reached out and put his hand to Alec’s cheek, his
thumb brushing along the cheekbone. His touch felt like fire, training tendrils
of sparks in its wake. Alec sat frozen in surprise—surprise at the gesture, and
surprise at the effect it was having on him. Magnus’ eyes narrowed, and he
dropped his hand. “Huh,” he said to himself.
“What?” Alec was suddenly very
worried that he’d done something wrong. “What is it?”
“You’re just . . .” A shadow moved
behind Magnus; with fluid agility, the warlock twisted around and picked up a
small gray and white tabby cat from the floor. The cat curled into the crook of
his arm and looked at Alec with suspicion. Now two pairs of gold-green eyes
were trained on him darkly. “Not what I expected.”
“From a Shadowhunter?”
“From a Lightwood.”
“I didn’t realize you knew my family
that well.”
“I’ve known your family for hundreds
of years.” Magnus’ eyes searched his face. “Now your sister, she’s a Lightwood.
You—’
“She said you liked me.”
“What?”
“Izzy. My sister. She told me you
liked me. Liked me, liked me.”
“Liked you, liked you?”
Magnus buried his grin in the cat’s fur. “Sorry. Are we twelve now? I don’t
recall saying anything to Isabelle . . .”
“Jace said it too.” Alec was blunt;
it was the only way he knew how to be. “That you liked me. That when he buzzed
up here, you thought he was me and you were disappointed that it was him. That
never happens.”
“Doesn’t it? Well, it should.”
Alec was startled. “No—I mean Jace,
he’s . . . Jace.”
“He’s trouble,” said Magnus. “But
you are totally without guile. Which in a Lightwood, is a conundrum. You’ve
always been a plotting sort of family, like low-rent Borgias. But there isn’t a
lie in your face. I get the feeling everything you say is straightforward.”
Alec leaned forward. “Do you want to
go out with me?”
Magnus blinked. “See, that’s what I
mean. Straightforward.”
Alec chewed his lip and said
nothing.
“Why do you want to go out with me?”
Magnus inquired. He was rubbing Chairman Meow’s head, his long fingers folding
the cat’s ears down. “Not that I’m not highly desirable, but the way you asked,
it seemed as if you were having some sort of fit—”
“I just do,” Alec said. “And I
thought you liked me, so you’d say yes, and I could try—I mean, we could try—”
He put his face in his hands. “Maybe this was a mistake.”
Magnus’ voice was gentle. “Does
anyone know you’re gay?”
Alec’s head jerked up; he found he
was breathing a little hard, as if he’d run a race. But what could he do, deny
it? When he’d come here to do exactly the opposite? “Clary,” he said, hoarsely.
“Which is . . . Which was an accident. And Izzy, but she’d never say anything.”
“Not your parents. Not Jace?”
Alec thought about Jace knowing, and
pushed the thought away, hard and fast. “No. No, and I don’t want them to know,
especially Jace.”
“I think you could tell him.” Magnus
rubbed Chairman Meow under the chin. “He went to pieces like a jigsaw puzzle
when he thought you were going to die. He cares—”
“I’d rather not.” Alec was still
breathing quickly. He rubbed at the knees of his jeans with his fists. “I’ve
never had a date,” he said in a low voice. “Never kissed anyone. Not ever. Izzy
said you liked me and I thought—”
“I’m not unsympathetic. But do you like
me? Because this being gay business doesn’t mean you can just throw yourself at
any guy and it’ll be fine because he’s not a girl. There are still people you
like and people you don’t.”
Alec thought of his bedroom back at
the Institute, of being in a delirium of pain and poison when Magnus had come
in. He had barely recognized him. He was fairly sure he’d been screaming for
his parents, for Jace, for Izzy, but his voice would only come out on a
whisper. He remembered Magnus’ hands on him, his fingers cool and gentle. He
remembered the death-grip he’d kept on Magnus’ wrist, for hours and hours, even
after the pain had passed and he knew he would be all right. He remembered
watching Magnus’ face in the light of the rising sun, the gold of sunrise
sparking gold out of his eyes, and thinking how oddly beautiful he was, with
his cat’s gaze and grace.
“Yes,” Alec said. “I like you.”
He met Magnus’ gaze squarely. The
warlock was looking at him with a sort of admixture of curiosity and affection
and puzzlement. “It’s so odd,” Magnus said. “Genetics. Your eyes, that color—”
He stopped and shook his head.
“The Lightwoods you knew didn’t have
blue eyes?”
“Green-eyed monsters,” said Magnus,
and grinned. He deposited Chairman Meow on the ground, and the cat moved over
to Alec, and rubbed against his leg. “The Chairman likes you.”
“Is that good?”
“I never date anyone my cat doesn’t
like,” Magnus said easily, and stood up. “So let’s say Friday night?”
A great wave of relief came over
Alec. “Really? You want to go out with me?”
Magnus shook his head. “You have to
stop playing hard to get, Alexander. It makes things difficult.” He grinned. He
had a grin like Jace’s—not that they looked anything alike, but the sort of
grin that lit up his whole face. “Come on, I’ll walk you out.”
Alec drifted after Magnus toward the
front door, feeling as if a weight had been taken off his shoulders, one he
hadn’t even known he was carrying. Of course he’d have to come up with an
excuse for where he was going Friday night, something Jace wouldn’t want to
participate in, something he’d need to do alone. Or he could pretend to be sick
and sneak out. He was so lost in thought he almost banged into the front door,
which Magnus was leaning against, looking at him through eyes narrowed to
crescents.
“What is it?” Alec said.
“Never kissed anyone?” Magnus said.
“No one at all?”
“No,” said Alec, hoping this didn’t
disqualify him from being datable. “Not a real kiss—”
“Come here.” Magnus took him by the
elbows and pulled him close. For a moment Alec was entirely disoriented by the
feeling of being so close to someone else, to the kind of person he’d wanted to
be close to for so long. Magnus was long and lean but not skinny; his body was
hard, his arms lightly muscled but strong; he was an inch or so taller than
Alec, which hardly ever happened, and they fit together perfectly. Magnus’
finger was under his chin, tilting his face up, and then they were kissing.
Alec heard a small hitching gasp come from his own throat and then their mouths
were pressed together with a sort of controlled urgency. Magnus, Alec thought
dazedly, really knew what he was doing. His lips were soft, and he parted
Alec’s expertly, exploring his mouth: a symphony of lips, teeth, tongue, every
movement waking up a nerve ending Alec had never known he had.
He found Magnus’ waist with his
fingers, touching the strip of bare skin he’d been trying to avoid looking at
before, and slid his hands up under Magnus’ shirt. Magnus jerked with surprise,
then relaxed, his hands running down Alec’s arms, over his chest, his waist,
finding the belt loops on Alec’s jeans and using them to pull him closer. His
mouth left Alec’s and Alec felt the hot pressure of his lips on his throat,
where the skin was so sensitive that it seemed directly connected to the bones
in his legs, which were about to give out. Just before he slid to the floor,
Magnus let him go. His eyes were shining and so was his mouth.
“Now you’ve been kissed,” he said,
reached behind him, and yanked the door open. “See you Friday?”
Alec cleared his throat. He felt
dizzy, but he also felt alive—blood rushing through his veins like traffic at
top speed, everything seemingly almost too brightly colored. As he stepped
through the door, he turned and looked at Magnus, who was watching him
bemusedly. He reached forward and took hold of the front of Magnus’ t-shirt and
dragged the warlock toward him. Magnus stumbled against him, and Alec kissed
him, hard and fast and messy and unpracticed, but with everything he had. He
pulled Magnus against him, his own hand between them, and felt Magnus’ heart
stutter in his chest.
He broke off the kiss, and drew
back.
“Friday,” he said, and let Magnus
go. He backed away, down the landing, Magnus looking after him. The warlock
crossed his arms over his shirt—wrinkled where Alec had grabbed it—and shook
his head, grinning.
“Lightwoods,” Magnus said. “They
always have to have the last word.”
He shut the door behind him, and
Alec ran down the steps, taking them two at a time, his blood still singing in
his ears like music.
