Alec looked up in fascination at the giant, crossed blades that arched over his head and plunged into the black rock on either side of him amidst patches of jewel-green moss. The gate was truly a marvel that couldn't be properly appreciated through pictures in textbooks.

Warily, he glanced down over the lip of the rocky outcropping that ended abruptly in front of him. A sluggish river of lava and slag churned along the bottom of the chasm, and he sucked in a breath before edging backwards a bit. Across the gorge, a drawbridge still stood firmly closed in the carved adamas walls.

The former Consul sighed almost inaudibly, but after twenty-five years together, Magnus didn't miss a beat.

"They're not going to talk to you," he said flatly, arms folded over a red velvet smoking jacket with black lapels. White lace dripped from his cuffs, and the buttons of his pristine dress shirt were undone half-way, so that he looked like a cross between a pirate and a 70s pimp. His hair was carefully styled into a messy, wind-blown look for the occasion. Only Magnus could find the time for exotic fashion while living on the run. In sharp contrast, Alec was wearing a set of borrowed gear from Bueno Aires. The fit was a bit tight on his tall frame, but Magnus had looked on approvingly.

Alec kept his eyes fixed on the drawbridge. "They'll talk to me."

Aline's message had sparked a heated debate between him and Jace that morning, with Alec pressing to enlist the aid of the Iron Sisters while his parabatai insisted that the legendary women would a.) never go against the Clave, and b.) never agree to speak to anyone lacking a second X chromosome.

As a compromise, Alec had sent his brother ahead to California to do some reconnaissance and try to get a lock on where or what the source of the 'kiss-your-asses-goodbye' breach was. Aline had a wonderful way with words when she was agitated. He briefly speculated if she had used a more, or less, colourful description in her message to Alicante.

After Buenos Aires, Jace had been obsessed with growing their tiny rebel force, and over half of the Argentines had asked to stay on with them. When news of the demon cross-over had come and maps had shown that it was far from any major cities, Alec had fretted about their weapon situation. It was dangerous to involve the closest Institutes, particularly Los Angeles; the last thing the Blackthorns needed was any more reason for the Clave to discipline them again. Raiding churches, temples, and synagogues along the coast was pure insanity, even with Jace's solemn vow to cease his unintentional advances on any hapless acolytes.

What they needed, Alec had insisted, was the resources of the Adamant Citadel. He was taking Aline's warning very seriously. A couple of seraph blades, a few vials of holy water, and an assortment of blessed swords and arrows weren't going to go far. And there was no telling how many more encounters they might need to fight. They needed a long-term solution. Simon and Izzy had sent a handful of updates from abroad that had included mentioning Centurions being dispatched to chase after the multitude of demon attacks that had peppered the globe. Alec had shook his head in disgust when he had seen that. What an inefficient use of resources. Everett was stalling, trying to look like he was doing something without having to properly take responsibility for coordinating the world's Institutes.

Jace had focused on the dispersion of the demons; he had analyzed the locations and relative strength of the disturbances endlessly, stubbornly trying to divine the nature of the mind that he was certain was directing the assaults. But Alec knew all too well the mind that was controlling their side of the equation, and he was filled with the feeling of helplessness as he watched the Clave fail to act under Everett's administration.

Magnus idly tapped one of the great blades of the arch with an immaculate nail as he regarded his husband critically. "Darling, there are both fundamental and physiological differences between men and women. You're a particularly fine example of a man, not that I'm complaining, but-" the warlock peered across the chasm at the fortress that had shown no signs of life since they had arrived nearly an hour earlier, "they're not going to talk to you," he repeated.

Alec's eyes were steady as he watched the Citadel patiently. "They'll talk to me."

Soon, Jace would be putting in the call to Isabelle to get herself, Simon, and the boys to California once he had tracked down the demons. Part of Alec wanted to be astonished at how much ground the foursome had covered, but the other part of him wouldn't have expected any less from his sister. Or, he admitted grudgingly, from Simon. His brother-in-law's contacts through the Recruiter network had opened a lot of doors that would have been closed to almost any other Shadowhunter, and it had expedited their diplomatic mission exponentially.

Pride flooded through him for his sons. Being stuck behind the Consul's desk for a decade had kept him from really seeing Rafe in action, or watching Max's confidence with his magic grow under first Magnus' tutelage, and then other warlocks across the globe as he had travelled and studied. Once he had turned eighteen, Rafael had demanded to be allowed to remain with his brother, and no one had found a good reason to deny the request. The pair had been inseparable ever since. Alec sincerely doubted that even Jace had penetrated farther into Downworld than Rafe had at Max's side. Rafe's birthday gifts to Jace were almost always tantalizing pieces of Downworld, just to torture his uncle with how much he was missing.

The Consul's sons were a curiosity to most of the Shadow World; a Shadowhunter raised alongside a Downworlder by parents from both worlds. Each brother had outstanding relationships on either side of the invisible lines that had been drawn in the sand centuries ago, and Alec had prayed to Raziel as they had grown that they would one day be a turning point to help blur and finally obliterate those lines once and for all. The heart that beat in his husband's chest was no different from his own, and he burned with a fierce need to help Shadowhunters and Downworlders alike realize that it really could be that simple. Even if those hearts aren't beating, he amended, thinking about the vampires.

Magnus cleared his throat. "Can you see how much not-talking is happening right now?"

Alec sighed and allowed a half-smile to creep up one side of his face as he continued his vigil. "I'd be okay with a little more not-talking while we wait for the talking part," he said under his breath.

"I heard that," Magnus huffed.

"You were meant to."

Worries about what might happen if his ragtag band of rebels encountered any loyalists in California plagued Alec. He didn't much care what happened to himself, but recalling his family meant that he had just put four more people in the Clave's cross-hairs if they were caught. He and Jace would be remanded into custody once more, and the others would likely be arrested for aiding and abetting fugitives from the law. Sed lex dura lex.

Whatever the consequences, he would do whatever he could for as long as he could until it ended one way or another. He had known since he was a teenager that he was going to dedicate his life to service for the Clave, and nothing had happened to change his mind.

"You know, I could just," Magnus wiggled his fingers suggestively, "zip us across."

"That's not the point. Haven't you ever heard that patience is a virtue?" He turned around and gently patted his husband's cheek. "Be virtuous."

A grin broke across Magnus' face, lighting up his cat eyes. "Virtuous?" He paused, and then a dreamy look crossed his features. "I haven't been virtuous since the summer of 1587... and what a magical summer it was..." he was cut off by the clanking of chains and the creaking of the drawbridge as it lowered across the gap. His mouth fell open in a surprised 'O'.

Alec drew his stele from inside the jacket of his gear and scrawled a quick dexteritas rune on the inside of his wrist to help him begin navigating the path of knives across the bridge. He was given the distinct impression that the confusing maze of wickedly-sharp upturned blades had not been designed with a man's size 13 foot in mind, which forced him into an ungainly, twisting two-step that left Magnus doubled-over with laughter.

On the far side, Alec straightened his jacket haughtily and blew a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. I must not have drawn the rune properly. He turned to watch his husband's attempt, and felt his jaw drop open as the warlock sashayed easily through the deadly obstacle.

It was Magnus' turn to give Alec's cheek an affectionate pat. "Salsa lessons, darling. I told you to come."

Alec burst out laughing, not even trying to hold it in, and his wide, genuine smile made Magnus' heart ache. Oh, Alec, how I've missed your laughter.

When he had caught his breath, the Shadowhunter's eyes twinkled with excitement. "When we get through this, I absolutely swear I will salsa with you."

Magnus lifted his finger, but Alec cut him off before he could say anything. "I swear by the Angel."

Grinning smugly, the warlock snapped his fingers and a flare of blue light blossomed over his hand to illuminate where they were standing.

Silver-white walls carved from adamas gleamed with an inner light, and they could see a shadow within becoming more and more distinct as it approached from the opposite side. At their feet, a black circle enclosed the sigil of the Iron sisters - a heart pierced by a blade.

When the shadow had become crisp and clear on the wall, a section of the adamas slid away to reveal a tall, imperious woman gowned in the long, loose white dress favoured by the Iron Sisters over the centuries. Demon-wire bound the wrists of her full sleeves and encircled a high, empire waistline in their fashion.

The Sister's face seemed nearly ageless; impossibly young, but with ancient wisdom shadowing her features. A long, dark braid swung down below her waist, also bound with twists of electrum. Her most stunning feature, though, was the swirling, complex tattooed mask that curled sinuously around her orange-hued eyes. It lent her angular visage an even more exotic cast, and Alec couldn't look away as she fixed her strange eyes on him piercingly and waited for him to speak.

Gathering his thoughts and carefully separating his inner salsa-ing Shadowhunter from his outer negotiating Consul, he dipped his head to the Sister in respect.

"I'm honoured by your presence, Sister. I assure you that I would not have disturbed your order if it was not of utmost importance. Thank you for coming," he said humbly.

She considered him carefully with calculating eyes. "A great number of my sisters argued against my decision; many have not spoken to a man in decades."

Magnus snorted irreverently. "Please, Sister Cleophas. If they were worried about being ravished, you can cheerfully inform them that they are not his type."

Cleophas fixed him with a hard, no-nonsense stare, and even the former High Warlock of Brooklyn wilted slightly under her fiery look of disapproval. "My sisters' concern did not lie with the Consul's intentions, but with yours, Magnus Bane." The warlock's eyes widened innocently as she continued, "Your name is not unknown within our walls."

He brightened with curiosity. "Really? Who-"

Alec raised his hand to cut off what would no doubt have been the start of another fascinating story featuring one of Magnus' previous romances. He was still trying to stamp out the images conjured by the mention of the 'magical' summer of 1587. "Sister Cleophas, I feel honour-bound to tell you that I was removed from office."

She lifted a dark eyebrow defiantly at his words. "The Adamant Citadel knows of what has befallen Alicante, Consul."

Surprise flashed through him as he caught her subtle vote of support, and it gave him the confidence to press his luck just a bit further. "And still you came?"

The woman raised two elongated fingers to her mouth and kissed them before pressing them gently to his lips solemnly. "For the courtesy you did us in revealing Sister Philomena's fate and giving us closure after two decades of mourning for her loss. Now her memory may at last be laid to rest. Rarely do the Sisters of the Adamant Citadel receive the kindness of strangers, and it was a welcome gesture for myself and a few of the others who are not so close-minded about outsiders."

Inwardly, Alec shook his head in amazement and silently thanked Sera's journal for uncovering the secret of the murders her mother had committed twenty years ago.

"You are a strange Shadowhunter, Consul," she said slowly. "You married a warlock against the accepted gender and race expectations of your people. You raised a Downworlder child as your own. You extended the hand of friendship to the traditionally solitary Iron Sisters. And you are spending what could be your last days of freedom in this life fighting back against demons that threaten us all." Her features blazed with intensity. "So you see, Consul, I worried not about the implications of coming to hear you out, but about the consequences of refusing to listen. What need have you of the Adamant Citadel?"

Alec exhaled a breath he didn't even realize he had been holding. "My family and I are living in exile of the Clave, but we refuse to stop fighting Heaven's battle because of human politics. We go to fight an unknown threat that may be more dangerous than anything this world has seen since the Mortal War, and we are woefully unequipped to do so." He hesitated. "We need access to the armouries of the Adamant Citadel."

Sister Cleophas remained silent, studying him quietly as she considered his request. Even Magnus restrained himself, sensing how important it was not to attempt to influence her decision. A gentle breeze ruffled the folds of her long dress as she pondered wordlessly, a fitting image of a Greek oracle brought to life centuries after their kind had vanished from the world.

After long minutes of waiting, her mouth curved up into a faint smile on one side. "If the Iron Sisters were to throw their support behind you, it could be viewed as an act of open rebellion, Consul."

Alec's face fell as his hopes were shattered. He had been so certain they would understand his need, that they would see that it was the right thing to do. He folded his hands together and bowed his head to her once more in farewell.

"I understand completely, Sister. Thank you for taking the time to see-"

"Do you know the Iron Sisters' words?" She moved closer to him, watching for his response. The soft glow of the adamas wall behind her gave her an otherworldly cast, exaggerating her slightly alien appearance.

"Ignis aurum probat," he answered automatically, thrown by the sudden change.

"Yes. 'Fire tests gold'," she said softly. "What happened to Alicante was a tragedy on a horrific scale, Consul, but I think you were tested in those fires. Yours is a heart of gold, Alexander Lightwood, and I think the Clave will soon see that you are not a man who can be broken."

Cleophas reached out and tapped a too-long finger against his chest threateningly. "It will only be a rebellion if we are on the losing side, Consul." Her fierce eyes burned into his own. "See to it that you win."

Less than an hour later, dozens of crates of weapons had been carted out to the edge of the Adamant Citadel's walls where Alec and Magnus had been asked to wait. No amount of respect for the Consul would permit Sister Cleophas to allow him within their fortress, but she had been able to galvanize a handful of her sisters to aid her in gathering a substantial cache for Magnus to transport to Jace's staging area in California.

When the boxes had vanished, she motioned for the other Sisters to go on without her, and then she approached Alec one last time. She produced a slim, black case about the size of a backgammon set and presented it to Alec carefully, beckoning him to take it.

"Use it wisely," she whispered before turning away and vanishing back through a gap in the wall that sealed itself behind her as if it had never opened.

Curious, he flicked open the latches and peeked inside. His breath caught in chest and he had to struggle to control it as he exhaled slowly to calm his suddenly racing pulse. He carefully refastened the locks and pulled out his cell.

By some miracle or exceptional cellphone network service, Alec was able to get a call through to Jace, and he fought to keep his voice steady.

"What did you find?" Alec asked, trying to contain the sense of buoyancy that had filled him with new hope after securing the help of the Sisters.

Jace's voice crackled with static on the other end of the line; wherever he was, there were either fewer miracles or fewer cellphone towers available. "You are going to be so pissed when I tell you, buddy," he said. There was a dangerous tone of excitement in his voice that Alec immediately associated with shining golden eyes and a guaranteed death wish.

Alec sighed into the phone. "Dare I ask?"

"Let me put it this way, Alec - they aren't even extinct enough for me this time."

A blood-red sun was setting over the ruins of Alicante, shimmering across the tall crystalline spires of the demon towers as it sunk lower toward the horizon. Hollowed-out shells of buildings that had been devastated by ley magic blasts pocked the face of the city, scarring its face irrevocably. The streets were deserted, and the canals were still choked with floating debris that had been blown out of homes on the last night of peace for the city of glass.

Jon Cartwright flicked open his lighter and cupped his left hand around the flame as he tilted his head down to light the cigarette in his mouth. Snapping the silver lid shut with a sharp snick, he exhaled a cloud of smoke, leaned on the stone railing of one of the canal bridges near the Gard and flicked a few cigarette ashes over the edge. Shouldn't be long now, he thought to himself.

He'd had a sick feeling in his gut ever since he had brought the news of the twin disasters in Cairo and Buenos Aires to interim-Consul Everett Whitelock. He'd seen the look in the man's eyes. They'd widened, but not in surprise. In recognition. He had known something was gunning for those cities, and he'd done fuck-all to prevent it.

Since then, Whitelock had been closeted away with those weird warlock twins working on a secret project in the lowest levels of the Gard. He had vanished with no official itinerary to Las Vegas, and now he had left for the Silent City without a word to anyone, except maybe that idiot meat-head, Ravenkey. The city was going to hell and the Consul wasn't even here.

Reports from confused Centurions had been piling up on the Consul's desk asking for more information about their assignments; there weren't any demons at their dispatch locations. Jon had leafed through the pile unchallenged. The Gard was nearly empty. No one knew what to do, and there wasn't anyone giving orders. In the absence of specific duties, most of the Shadowhunters had slipped away to be with their families and salvage what they could before getting out of Idris.

Cinder Whitescar appeared at his side silently, and he jumped, almost losing his cigarette. "Jesus, Michael, and Raziel," he swore. "Goddamn Centurions."

"I don't actually think any of them were Centurions," Cinder deadpanned. Her dark hair was tied back in her signature braid, and she wore her tough leather gear easily, the set broken in from years of hard service. Dark aviator sunglasses hid her eyes as she leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest casually.

"Yeah, well..." Jon looked flustered by her sudden appearance, and decided to change the subject. "Did you find anything?"

Cinder grinned, stretching the three white scars across her face, and reached into her jacket. She held up a handful of rumpled slips of paper. "What do you think?"

Jon whooped and reached for them, but she held them back over the canal, out of his reach, and pressed her left hand against his chest. "Let's get something straight, Cartwright. I don't want to see another sideshow circus. That's not why I dug through four dumpsters for these."

He lowered his hand and took a deep drag on his cigarette. "Have you talked to her yet?"

Cinder set her jaw, her heart clenching in her chest as she thought about Ria. "No."

Jon scratched at the back of his neck uncomfortably. Strife between parabatai was uncommon, but it did happen. And no one ever wanted to talk about it. He steered the conversation out of awkward waters tactfully.

"How much pull do you have at the Scholomance?"

Cinder looked confused. "I don't know. Some? Like, are you asking if I can get a pair of Jace Herondale's boxers? Because literally anyone can do that."

Jon blew smoke through his nostrils in disgust. "I will never understand people's obsession with that guy. And no, I'm not looking for underwear. Is there any way you can get some sort of override message to your fellow Centurions? Or send out a distress signal to get them moving?"

"Override message..." Cinder said doubtfully. "You mean like, countermanding direct orders?"

"I couldn't have said it better myself." His thumb twitched nervously at the butt of his cigarette.

"Jon, that's pretty damn serious."

"Well, so am I," he answered simply. "What happened to Lightwood... it doesn't sit right with me, you know? Everett stacked the Council Hall with his buddies to get the Consul out, and now where are they, huh?" He threw his arms out to indicate the empty city. "Rats on a sinking ship, Cinder. And the biggest rat of all is... up to something."

Cinder's fingers tightened on the notes for which she had gone hip-deep into trash to find. "So you want another circus? Somehow fill the galleries with pro-Lightwood supporters and drag in Everett wrapped in chains this time?" She shook her head. "I won't be part of a lynch-mob, Jon."

He held up his hands defensively. "I'm not asking you to. I just have to know that when the time comes, we're gonna have what we need to make things right again."

Cinder sighed and brought her arm back over the railing. "Justice, Jon. Not vengeance."

"Not vengeance," he agreed.

She handed over the crumpled lump, and Jon held her eyes with his own for a moment in silent thanks before unfolding the first one to start reading. By the time he had finished, his cigarette was dangling from his lower lip, and he looked up at her for confirmation of what he was seeing. She nodded once.

"Christ, Cinder. Does California know yet?"

The Centurion shrugged noncommittally. "I don't know, but I haven't had any new orders yet."

Jon dropped his cigarette butt and used the heel of his boot to grind it out on the cobblestones of the bridge. This had gotten way more out of hand than he had expected. He tucked the evidence into the inside pocket of his jacket and zipped it back up.

"We need to work fast."

Simon tucked one last pair of socks into his carry-on bag and zipped it closed before looking over at the clothes explosion on the bed he shared with his wife. Spending most of his adult life travelling the world had made him a pretty efficient packer, but he doubted that even Raziel himself could make Izzy anything less than a human clothes-tornado. He tried not to think of what his mother would say if she could see this.

Rafe and Max had made it back twenty minutes earlier and were ready to go, but she had gone down to settle their hotel bill half an hour ago and still hadn't returned. Classic Venetians.

Simon could just barely hear the television in the next room where the boys were killing time and trying not to look too nervous or excited. They knew it was time to join their fathers and Jace, but they were still waiting to hear the exact location so that Max could open a Portal.

"Hey, Uncle Si," Max called out. "You gotta come see this!"

Simon dropped a lacy red bra and mentally bookmarked it for later now that he knew it was somewhere in his wife's luggage. When he crossed into the front room, he found Rafe leaning forward in an armchair, a hunting knife forgotten in his right hand as he stared with rapt attention at the broadcast. Max was rummaging around in the couch cushions for the remote. "Where did you say Uncle Jace wants us to go?"

"Northern California-" The older Shadowhunter came around in front of the television and saw that it was tuned to an American news station that was providing aerial coverage of a huge forest fire. Billowing clouds in every shade of grey were rising from the fiery canopy as it was consumed by the fire. The late-afternoon sky was obscured by smoke and ash as a helicopter panned past the fire line and revealed the charred husks of once-beautiful trees now standing blackened and barren.

Max found the remote and jabbed at the volume button.

"...fire marshals were baffled by the speed with which the fires began spreading through northern California last night after calls started streaming in. Over 80,000 homes in the Santa Barbara area have been evacuated as a precaution while local fire fighters work to employ various methods of wildfire suppression.

Over three dozen crews from neighbouring towns and cities have volunteered to help combat the blaze that started somewhere in the Los Padres National Forest, and officials are asking tourists and locals to avoid travel in the area and to cooperate with detour coordinators as firebreaks are created to contain the devastation."

Simon gaped at the screen. "Maybe it's a different part of California," he said faintly.

He heard a key card slide into the lock on the hotel room door and Izzy stormed in with her cellphone in hand just as Rafe swore quietly under his breath in Spanish and asked, "What could do something like this?"

She reached down and violently wrenched off the cream-coloured pumps she was wearing, bending elegantly in a navy A-line skirt and jacket to inelegantly hurl her shoes into the bedroom. Simon winced as he tried to tally what the extra charges to the room would be for stiletto dents in the plaster.

"Everything okay...?" he ventured.

Izzy tossed back her long dark hair, eyes flashing. "Do you know what he's doing right now?" she asked, shaking her cellphone at Simon. He shook his head mutely.

"He's laughing," she hissed. "Laughing."

"Who is?" Max piped up.

"Your uncle," she spat as she stalked into the bedroom to begin cramming her clothes into suitcases before correcting herself, "Your other uncle. Your soon-to-be ex-uncle. Your imminently deceased uncle."

Simon moved to stand in the doorway and fidgeted with the hem of his shirt nervously as she started stripping out of her clothes hurriedly and reached for her gear, as-yet unused during their travels. "Should I be asking what Jace is laughing about, or should I just shut up?"

His wife poured herself into the tough, black pants and Simon felt his mouth go dry as she yanked the zipper up on the jacket. She turned her eyes up at him. "Oh, please ask me."

Wife trap? Or does she genuinely want me to ask? He fretted quietly and risked a glance backwards at the boys for guidance. Rafe shook his head furiously while Max nodded earnestly. Simon sighed. So helpful, guys. Oh, well. Carpe diem. Seize the carp.

"What's so funny?"

She twisted her hair up and stabbed a pair of chopsticks through to hold it back, somehow managing super-model hair in less than seven seconds. Maybe she was born with it. "He gave me their exact location, and then asked you to bring a handful of D20s."

What? "What?"

Izzy sighed. "He even jokingly offered to let you lead the defense this time, citing your extensive campaign experience." She coiled her signature electrum whip around her wrist and waited for it to sink in.

Seeing his blank look, she rubbed her temples tiredly.

"Dragons, Simon. He found dragons."

**Author's note: I'm going to make every effort to get Chapter 14 up by Wednesday. Pray to Raziel for me. Or Lilith. Or both. Let's cover all our bases, shall we?

1. I've been looking forward to writing the next part for WEEKS. It's been ripping me up to keep it inside.

2. Today was the first day in my quest to survive 12 shifts in 8 days, so I will be notably short on writing time after Wednesday until next week =/ Decisions were made. Regrets were had.

Also: uploaded this chapter from a new browser in an attempt to circumvent the ongoing issue I have with the copy/paste process from Open Office gobbling up every 8th-12th space. Apologies if there are kinks in formatting or spacing - I'm working on it.